


Not All of Wisdom Brings Joy

by Fullmetalcarer, IreneADonovan



Category: Thor (Movies), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Raven, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles is a mortal, Charles is a physician, Concentration Camp Scene, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is a Sweetheart, Erik is an ancient god, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, F/F, F/M, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Logan is a god who owns a bar, M/M, Protective Erik, So are most of the othee characters, Syrian Civil War, The Holocaust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Charles is a man who summons Erik, an ancient god, seeking to put an end to war. Erik knows it's not that simple. Under the terms of the summoning, Erik has until the next full moon to persuade him to make a different wish.





	1. The Summoning

**Author's Note:**

> Irene: This story was inspired by a song called The Sun Is Also a Warrior by Leslie Fish, about a man who petitions a god for world peace. I heard it for the first time in years and immediately saw Erik as the old god and Charles as the man. I mentioned the idea to Fullmetalcarer and she promptly sent me a cast list of characters as other gods and asked if I'd be interested in collaborating. I cheerfully said yes, and this is the result.
> 
> The title is from the song.

It had been at least a millennium since the old god had felt it, the siren call of a priest performing one of the ancient summoning rituals, calling him forth with purpose, seeking his powers and his counsel.

He'd thought all the old rituals forgotten, relics of the past, of a time when humans still sought out the old gods. Modern pagans tried to re-create the old ways, but too much had been lost.

Or so he had thought.

He let his senses range outward, seeking the source of the call. Not from anywhere in the Old World. California. North of Santa Barbara, he thought. Curious.

He translated himself to a position near the source of the call, preferring to observe undetected for a minute rather than make the splashy entrance so many of his compatriots favored. 

He found himself on a deserted stretch of beach framed by rocks that rose into towering cliffs. The evening air was cool, with a light mist hanging in the air, slowly congealing toward fog. He descended toward the sand under cover of the rocks.

A solitary figure sat on a low, flat rock near the water on the far side of the beach. Youngish, male, and stunningly beautiful even to the jaded eyes of an immortal being. Eyes the color of a summer sky. Lush red lips. Dark hair, longer than current human fashion, shot through with russet and dusky gold. Fair skin dusted with freckles. Toned arms. Muscular chest. Not overly tall, but well-proportioned. 

The man was chanting in stilted Latin with an English accent. His voice was pleasant, though, a rich baritone that almost made up for speaking Latin so badly.

The ancient god descended the rest of the way to the beach and crossed the sand, leaving no footprints and getting no sand in his shoes. There were perks to being a god.

The man remained oblivious to his presence, staring intently at the notebook in his hand, continuing to chant in heavily accented Latin. And then when he finally did notice, he scowled. “Go away. This is a private beach.”

The god continued his steady advance. “You're the one who Summoned me.”

The man's head swivelled, his eyes widened, and the chanting stopped. “You don't dress like a god,” he blurted.

The god glanced down at his jeans and flannel shirt, then shrugged. “Armor is damned uncomfortable, and it makes it way too hard to blend in with present-day society. So what's so important you dragged me away from my favorite bar and a bottle of first-rate scotch and out into the middle of nowhere?” He hoped it wasn't for something trivial. He'd worked his way up to a major god of a major pantheon just so he wouldn't have to deal with trivial shit.

“I want an end to war.”

Okay, that wasn't trivial.

He massaged his temples. “I need another drink.” And he translated them both to Logan's.

The man did the expected double-take as he realized he was now seated at a table in the back corner of a bar. But his next emotion wasn't the predictable fear or awe. It was – irritation?

The man glared at him, and spoke in an icy tone. “The least you could have done was bring my chair.”

The god cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong with the one you're sitting in?”

“My wheelchair,” the man clarified. “It was on the far side of the rock. I really don't appreciate being trapped like this.”

A wheelchair. He hadn't expected that this beautiful creature could be broken in any way. A pity. The god concentrated for a moment, located the wheelchair, swapped it for the chair the man sat on.

The man glanced down. “Nice trick.”

The god shrugged. “Goes with the territory. Have a drink.” He summoned a second glass and filled it.

The man raised the glass to his face, sniffed it, then took a sip, his face lighting. “Oh, that's splendid.”

“Logan stocks only the best. He's a retired god of liquor.”

The man's eyebrows rose. “I didn't know gods could retire.”

“Most of us are at least semi-retired these days. Not many people believe in us anymore, and few of those that do know how to call on us.”

“Save for a fanatical researcher like myself.” The man studied him. “So what do I call you? Apollo?”

“Apollo was just an office. There were five of us in total, three Greek and two Roman. I was just the last. Hence why I was stuck answering your call.”

“So what, then?”

“Human ears can't hear my true name, and human vocal cords can't produce the sounds. The human name I usually use now is Erik. With a k.”

“Erik?”

The god nodded. “Yes. So what do I call you?”

“Charles. Charles Xavier. You don't just _know_?”

“Most of us aren't actually omniscient.”

“What about omnipotent?”

“In theory. In reality, we all have our specialties. I've mostly been gods of war and wisdom.”

“Aren't those two mutually exclusive?” Charles quipped.

Erik glared at him but let it pass. “Take Logan. He's been a god of drink, a fertility god, a god of music, a trickster, and a few other things along the way, but he doesn't have the patience to be a god of wisdom. Neither does Thor over there. Not that Thor wants to be anything but Thor.” He pointed at the big blond seated at the bar, a large tankard of ale in front of him.

Charles turned and stared. “That's Thor?”

“Yeah.”

Charles' eyes flicked around nervously. “Are all these people gods?”

Erik's gaze swept the room. “Yeah.”

“So who's that?” Charles pointed at the woman in white seated at a front table, sipping a glass of Dom Pérignon.

“She goes by Emma Frost now, but she was Aphrodite, White Shell Woman, and a whole host of winter goddesses.”

“What about them?” Two beings, blond and brunet, who bore a resemblance to each other, were being joined by a redhead carrying a bottle of Logan's best whiskey. “Sunrise and Sunset? Brothers, fire gods across a bunch of pantheons, and that's Dionysus joining them.”

“What about her? The redhead at the bar?”

Erik didn't even have to look. “That's Jean, aka Brighid, Pele, Vesta. She's Logan's girlfriend, on and off for the last few millenia.”

Charles officially looked weirded out. He knocked back his scotch, and Erik poured him another. “Will anyone mind that you've brought a human here?”

Erik shook his head. “It's not that uncommon. I never have before, but plenty of the others do.”

“So I'm your first.” Erik didn't think he was imagining the flirtatious undertone in Charles' voice.

“In a manner of speaking,” Erik said dryly, draining his own glass, refilling and draining it again. “So what's this about you wanting an end to war?”

Charles sipped at his own refill. “Just that. I want an end to war.”

“Why?”

Charles emptied his glass before answering. “Because I'm sick to death of all the senseless waste. I'm a physician, and I've served in war zones. I've seen too much death and destruction, too many bodies broken beyond repair.”

Erik couldn't help but wonder if one of those bodies had been his own. 

“Yes, but that's not why I'm doing this.” Charles poured himself a new drink.

Erik cocked an eyebrow. “You're a telepath, and a strong one. You'd have to be to read the mind of a god.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Erik poured himself another drink. “What the hell was a telepath of your caliber doing in a war zone? It must have been torture.”

Charles drained his glass. “It's where I was needed.”

_Selfless idiot bastard._

“Not a bastard.” Charles reached for the bottle to refill his glass, then paused with it in his hand. “It's still full.”

“Logan's bottles never run dry. I've been working on this one for nearly a decade.”

“A decade,” Charles said, voice full of wonder, and he poured himself a fresh glass and sipped at it.

Erik shrugged. “That's when I got tired of martinis.” He eyed Charles. “So are you going to tell me why you're really doing this? No one goes to this much trouble without one hell of a personal reason.”

Charles regarded him silently for a long minute then shook his head. “I'm not nearly drunk enough for that.” He swallowed the rest of his drink, poured another.

Erik spotted Logan ambling up, beer in hand, his relaxed posture and easy gait belying a keen alertness. “What's up, bub? Who's your friend?”

“His name's Charles. He Summoned me.”

Logan's brows rose nearly to his hairline. “I didn't think anyone still knew how to do that.”

“Took me two years to re-create the ritual,” Charles said proudly and more than a little drunkenly. No surprise there; he was drinking liquor meant for gods, not mortals. Erik discreetly slid the bottle out of Charles' reach.

Logan ignored him, snared a chair and flipped it around backwards before settling his burly frame onto it. The chair creaked ominously, and Logan glared at it as if daring it to break. “So what is he asking for?”

Erik sighed and tossed back his latest drink. “An end to war.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.”

Logan took a long pull from his beer bottle and leaned forward, resting his brawny forearms on the chair back. “So what are you going to do?”

Erik studied Charles, who was on the verge of passing out. “Stall,” he said. “I've got until the next full moon to convince him to wish for something else.”

“And if he won't listen to reason?”

“I'll have no choice.”

“That could get ugly.”

“What would you have me do? Kill him?”

“I would.”

Erik had no doubt of that; Logan had always had a savage side. “I'm a god of reason.”

“And a god of war.”

There was that.

Logan nodded at Charles. “You'd better take him back before he ends up on the floor. And you'd better hope he has a nice place. I have a feeling you'll be stuck there a while. He doesn't strike me as the type to give up easily.”

And that was exactly what Erik was afraid of.


	2. Raven is a BAMF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be shy chaps, comment if you like it. We love writing, but we love encouragement too :)

Charles surfaced from sleep and immediately wished he hadn't. He felt terrible. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry and tasted disgusting and nausea coiled in his gut. He opened one eye. It was way, way too bright, but he didn't close his eye, in fact he opened the other one. The most gorgeous man was lying opposite him. Auburn hair, a scruff of brighter ginger beard, straight nose, high cheekbones, thin yet curvy lips and a strong jaw. His shoulders were broad and all the muscles of his chest and belly were beautifully defined. His waist was absurdly narrow. His tanned skin was scored by old scars. Unfortunately the sheet hid the rest.

He couldn't believe it. He'd got incredibly, amazingly lucky and couldn't remember a thing about it. He flickered his telepathy across the surface of the man's mind. He gasped. The sleeping stranger's mind was like nothing he'd ever felt; powerful, both blindingly bright and pitch black, and layered in complexity. The man opened his eyes. Blue? No, green. No, grey. Perhaps a mixture of all three? He gazed at Charles, who was suddenly very aware of his own nakedness.

"Good morning."

Damn, he had a beautiful voice too, with some unidentifiable accent.

"Er, good morning," croaked Charles.

The man smiled. It was at once sinister and utterly charming.

"You don't remember a thing, do you?"

"No."

"Well, Logan's scotch tends to have that effect. So, you don't remember, ah, summoning me to your side? All the new and startling things I taught you? I think you found it a revelation."

He was grinning now. Something clicked in Charles' head. Summoning. The Summoning. A god in a flannel shirt. A bar full of goddesses and gods. Hiding his nervousness and awe by drinking too much. He dragged himself off the bed, away from the god, aiming for his wheelchair, missed and hit the floor with a thud. Pain rocketed through his skull. A long fingered, elegant hand reached down to him and touched his forehead. Just like that, his hangover was gone. He stared at the god. Erik.

Charles began levering himself into his wheelchair. It was tough from the floor, but he had superb upper body strength and could do it if he had to.

"Need any help?"

"No," said Charles, ungraciously.

Erik watched as Charles fought his way onto the chair.

"Did we . . . did we . . . you know . . . er, have sex, er?"

Wow, very articulate, Charles. Erik rose gracefully from the bed. Charles could have chosen to admire his long, lean, runner's thighs. He could have appreciated the graceful taper of his calves into slender ankles. Instead he fixated on the absolutely massive cock nestling among auburn curls. If he was that big flaccid, what the hell would he be like erect?

"Oh , Charles," said Erik, voice like honey and chocolate, "Surely you recall all those Greek and Roman legends about gods frolicking with human mates? Can you really not remember our epic, nay, mythic encounter last night?"

Oh shit, he'd fucked a god! Oh shit, he couldn't remember it!

Erik started laughing. "Your face! Oh, Zeus and all his bastard children! You were blind drunk, Charles. I stripped you off and put you to bed. It was all boringly chaste."

Charles felt relived and, secretly, a bit disappointed.

"How come we're naked?"

Erik looked at him like he was an idiot.

"It's hot."

"How come you didn't take one of the other bedrooms?"

"The Summoning forces us to stay within about ten feet of each other or experience intense pain and the binding lasts from full moon to full moon."

"It . . . it does?"

Erik gave him that shark-like grin.

"Sounds like your research wasn't as thorough as you thought."

Charles was nothing if not experimental. He wheeled himself across the room, out of the door and down the corridor. What a liar! He was fine. Bloody gods. Then it hit. He was being torn in two. He was on fire. Knives of ice penetrated his skull. Suddenly he was back in the bedroom. The pain was gone as quickly as it had begun. Erik must have transported him.

"Do not do that again," said Erik, looking pinched and grey.

"I won't," promised Charles.

Something else was demanding his attention. If he didn't go through his morning routine, things were going to get messy.

"I'm going to need to sort myself out. You can have a shower after I'm done if you'd like?"

"Fine."

Some time later, Charles exited the bathroom, washed and dressed and respectable.

"Does it always take that long?"

Charles nodded. Erik looked thoughtful, then headed into the bathroom. Charles was about to head downstairs when he remembered the ten feet thing. He waited for Erik, who took all of five minutes and emerged with one of Charles' towels slung low round his waist. A few stray droplets glistened on his chest. His hair was dark and curly with the damp. Charles had to look away and pretend to straighten his teeshirt. When he looked back, Erik had pulled on his jeans.

"I'm hungry, let's go get breakfast," said the god.

"No shirt?"

"It's hot."

Fuck, Charles was going to die from UST. They took the elevator downstairs and headed into the kitchen.

"I've got all sorts of cereals and bread and spreads."

"Got any eggs?"

"Yes, I can boil you an egg."

"I'd prefer scrambled."

"Ah, I'm not much of a cook, so unless you like your scrambled eggs a delicious combination of burnt and raw, boiled might be the better option."

Erik laughed.

"I'll cook. Would you like some?" Charles nodded. "How about you rustle up some juice and coffee? That's if it's not beyond your culinary capabilities?"

It was Charles' turn to laugh.

"The juice machine squeezes the oranges and the coffee machine brews the coffee so we should be safe."

He put oranges in the juicer and beans in the grinder and then in the coffee machine, while Erik got eggs, milk and butter out of the fridge. He couldn't help watching him out of the corner of his eye. He moved so gracefully, like a dancer. He summoned a pan and a spatula with a fluid gesture of his fingers. His jeans exposed the dimples above his ass and the trail of dark ginger hair leading to his crotch. Charles was jerked from his reverie by the hissing of the coffee machine.

Charles set everything on the table and Erik put a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs in front of him. Charles forked some into his mouth.

"Oh my god! Erik, this is, it's, oh, ah, mmm."

"Why thank you."

Charles wolfed down his eggs. Erik was a little more restrained. They leant back and sipped their coffees.

"So, princess, why do you want an end to war?"

"Princess?"

"Well, you live in a castle."

Charles laughed. The beach house was a small scale recreation of a French chateau, all white stone and grey-blue pointed turrets. Raven said it looked like a tasteful version of the Disney castle.

"I'm no princess, not even a prince I'm afraid. As for why I want an end to war, surely it's obvious?"

Erik looked at him expectantly.

"So many needless deaths. Bodies blown to pieces, burnt to ashes, pierced with shrapnel, hacked to shreds. Young people who could have done anything, been anyone, cut down in their prime. And for every death, how many more injuries that change people's lives forever? Amputated limbs, paralysed bodies, disfigured faces. And how about the invisible injuries? The people living with PTSD. People whose personalities are changed completely. People who piss themselves when they hear fireworks. People who attack anyone wearing a red scarf. People who hide in the basement when someone knocks at their door."

Charles paused.

"And the people who suffer the most often seem to be the non-combatants. Driven out of their homes into overcrowded, underfunded refugee camps. Bombed in their houses. Slaughtered by rampaging soldiers. Raped and taken as sex-slaves. Children beaten and threatened into taking up arms. And what of those left behind? Those who have lost children, parents, siblings, partners, friends? People with holes in their lives that can't be filled."

He had to stop for a moment.

"I haven't even mentioned the destruction of cities and towns and villages and the natural world. How drugs and guns and diamonds and people trafficking fund conflicts all over the world. What about the money we spend on "defense" that could be spent on hospitals or social care? What about chemical weapons? Biological weapons? Hiroshima? Nagasaki?"

He looked at Erik, waiting for a response. Erik drained his coffee mug.

"What of the concept of a "just war"? Should tyrants and dictators be allowed to thrive unchecked? What about Hitler and the Nazis? Should the Reich have been allowed to sweep across the world? Do you think there would be any Jewish people left on this planet if World War II hadn't been fought? Any Romani? LGBT+ people? People with disabilities?"

He shook his head.

"What about the many technological advances triggered by war? Canned food, microwave ovens, plastic surgery, digital photography, the internet, stainless steel, pressurised aircraft cabins, radio navigation and landing, penicillin, space travel, jet engines, computers, radar, nuclear power, I could go on and on and on."

His many hued eyes were fixed on Charles.

"And there is the heroism of war. The wounded soldier who rescues half a dozen of his comrades. The grunt who protects "enemy" women and children. The warrior who lays down her life for her troop. And what of the brotherhood and sisterhood of fighting men and women? The bond that is deeper than any other you will ever know. The tie between people who fight side by side, who see the worst of each other, who see the best of each other and who are willing to die for their brothers and sisters in arms?"

There was a long silence.

"You're obviously not convinced by my arguments," said Charles.

"Nor you by mine."

"Erik, will you let me show you how it feels?"

Erik nodded. Charles gently eased tendrils of power into Erik's magnificent mind. A mother was grieving the loss of her children, her grief like poison flowing through her veins. A young soldier writhed in agony, body torn in two, pain consuming him with flames of agony. A child hid under the table, piss tricking down his thigh, fear surging through him in a corrosive tide. A girl submitted silently to the queue of soldiers, body torn and bleeding, flooded with shame and humiliation.

Charles withdrew.

"Charles," Erik's voice was soft, "I've felt all that and more for millennia. It hasn't changed my mind. War is an evil, but it is a necessary evil."

Charles could have wept. What could he do? What could he say?

The kitchen door banged open.

"OK, I've been keeping discreetly out of the way for long enough. Who are you hiding in here, Charles?"

Raven stood there in all her blue, scarlet and gold glory. He'd been so focused on Erik's mind he hadn't even noticed hers. Erik and Raven stared at each other. Both of them looked decidedly dangerous. Erik shifted slightly, poised for action. Raven morphed into a taller, more muscular version of herself.

"Erik, this is Raven, my sister. Raven, this is Erik, my . . . "

"Your what, exactly?"

If it hadn't been for the ten foot rule he'd have claimed him as a passing acquaintance, aka one night stand, but Erik was going to be around and in close proximity for the next month.

"He's my boyfriend."

Raven and Erik glared at him. Erik's glare changed into a smirk. Raven's changed into a scowl.

"Boyfriend, huh?"

Erik's smirk widened.

"We met on the beach. I was trespassing, but Charles forgave me. We got talking, we carried on the conversation in a bar, one thing led to another and here I am. We couldn't bear to part this morning, so I'm going to be around for a least a month."

Raven smiled insincerely.

"Don't you have a job you have to go to?"

"Funnily enough I've just resigned one position and won't be taking up my next post for a few weeks. So, I'll be glued to Charles' side."

He got up, went to stand behind Charles' chair, put his hands on his shoulders, then leaned forwards, sliding those long fingers down his chest and pressing his stubbly cheek against Charles' smooth one. Raven looked positively murderous. Erik gave him a peck on the cheek. Dear lord, he couldn't stand this.

"I'm just going to . . . to do something very important in the next room."

He wheeled off. Erik called after him.

"Don't go far, darling."

Charles pushed out into the corridor, wheeled along until he felt the first twinge of pain and stopped. He quite deliberately drew in his telepathy. He just couldn't cope with the shit-storm that was about to go down in the kitchen.

**Raven**

Raven gazed at her brother's "boyfriend".

"Erik, was it?"

"Yep."

"Funny, I know you by a lot of other names; Ares, Mars and Apollo to name but three."

"Raven is one of your names, isn't it? Though I seem to remember you were a man last time we met."

Raven shrugged. Gender was a fluid concept as far as she was concerned.

"Raven, trickster and protector of the Native Americans, the Pacific Northwest tribes as I recall. Changing Woman was the other one, wasn't it? The Navajo Earth Mother, changing to mark the seasons and dancing out the rhythm of life and death. What are you doing pretending to be some human's sister?"

She was strongly tempted to retort, "None of your fucking business," but restrained herself. Erik was a powerful deity, not to be fucked with. She could trick and outwit him nine times out of ten, but a stand up fight was a whole other deal.

"I'm not pretending to be his sister, I am his sister, legally adopted and all that shit."

Erik raised an eyebrow. She'd have to give him some background.

"I was going from rich people house to rich people house, playing tricks and causing chaos, when I met him. A couple of burglars were turning his place over. He was a stupid kid in pyjamas with a baseball bat. They took his bat and they'd have smashed his skull in if I hadn't interfered. I made each of 'em see the other as his worst fear."

She chuckled.

"They beat seven shades out of each other. I'd probably have pissed off, but I felt him in my head. I was in this form, but like a child. He wasn't afraid of me, he thought I was beautiful, a mutant like him. He wanted me to stay. Poor little fucker was so lonely. That huge house and nobody in it gave a shit about him. I liked him, so I stayed. It was easy enough to get his waste-of-skin mother to adopt me. I didn't even have to do anything, he changed her mind for her. First time he'd ever done that and he did it for me."

She turned the full force of her golden glare on Erik.

"So, I'm kind of fond of the little pissant and don't take kindly to anyone messing with him, god or no."

Erik smiled that too toothy smile of his.

"We're just enjoying each other's company, Raven. Neither of us are serious, it's just a fling."

She frowned. "You were always dead against fraternisation with humans."

"Ah, but look at him. He'd tempt a saint and I'm no saint. It's just a little harmless fun for both of us."

Raven walked over to him, pacing like a panther. She got right up in his face. God of War and Wisdom he might be, but if he hurt her baby bro she would do everything in her power to fuck him up. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. He got the message. He inclined his head. She nodded back. The door swung open.

"So, have you two been making friends?" said Charles, brittle and over-bright.

"Oh, yeah," said Raven, "Me and Erik are getting on like a house on fire."

That was true enough as sooner or later someone was going to have to call the emergency services.


	3. Fighting and Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles play chess and argue and meet the bad guy and make out a little...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do thrive on feedback! Thank you to everyone who's commented and left kudos, and we encourage more...

“So what do we do now?” Charles asked, trying hard not to stare at the shirtless being standing before him, trying harder not to fantasize about peeling those perfectly snug jeans off that even more perfect ass.

Erik shrugged. “What do you usually do?”

“I took a two-month leave of absence from the hospital to finish researching that Summoning ritual, and I used less than half of it, so I'm rather at a loose end."

“But what do you usually do with your free time?”

“Read. Read a lot. Watch trashy tv with Raven in the evenings. Try to talk her or her boyfriend into playing chess.”

“You play chess?” Erik's multi-hued eyes sparked with interest.

“I'm sure I'm not any kind of competition for a god,” Charles protested.

“Let's find out. Where's your chessboard? And if it helps, I'm sure to be rusty. I haven't played in at least a century.”

A century? Ulp. He was so screwed. Charles wheeled toward the library, where he had a chessboard set up.

Erik followed close behind. “We still need to discuss your wish.”

Charles turned down a cross-corridor. “What's to discuss. You have your views, I have mine, and never the twain shall meet.”

“Never?”

“Certainly not in my lifetime. I don't know about yours. Are you immortal, or is that something the legends got wrong?'

“No, they got that one right,” Erik said, then added more quietly, “I'm still going to try to change your mind.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less.” They'd reached the library, and Charles wheeled up to the chessboard.

Their first game was mostly about feeling each other out. Erik was indeed the more skilled, but he was also by far the more aggressive, and patience gave Charles a fighting chance. Erik still won the first two games, though Charles didn't make it easy, then Charles was able to force a stalemate on the third.

As Erik set the board up for a fourth game, Charles attempted to stretch his back out. The pain was ever-present, aggravating at best, blinding at worst. Today it was somewhere in between but closer to the latter.

Erik, curse him, noticed. “Is something wrong?”

“Just my back,” Charles muttered.

“This happens often?” And damn it, Charles could feel the pity hiding underneath the surface.

“Often enough.”

“Would you like me to ease the pain, like I did with your head earlier?”

“You'd do that?”

Erik nodded. “But done that way, it would only be temporary.”

“Temporary but without drugs still sounds pretty damned good.”

“It could be made permanent.”

Charles breath caught in his throat. He didn't want to dare to hope for that, the blessed relief from the pain that had been a constant companion for more than three years. But what price would he have to pay? His dream? “Permanent?” he asked, just managing to hold his voice steady.

“Yes,” Erik said. “I am also a god of science and medicine, am I not? It would be a simple matter for me to locate the nerves responsible and block the pain signals permanently. You have but to ask.”

It was tempting, oh so tempting. The pain was like a living thing, searing, pulsating fire through damaged nerve and muscle and bone, sucking the life from him, and the thought of freedom from that--

Except-- “What price would I have to pay for such a service? My dream of peace? Are you trying to trick me into using my wish for something else, something I'd have trouble resisting?”

Erik looked offended, bordering on pissed off. “I'm a god of reason. If necessary, I will spend the entire moon-cycle trying to persuade you to change your wish, but I will not resort to trickery.”

“Sorry,” Charles said, and he truly was. He was also on the verge of accepting Erik's offer when the god spoke again. “For that matter, I could fix it all, take away your pain, mend your spine, give you back your legs, make you whole again.”

One part of Charles' brain gibbered excitedly at the prospect. Never needing the damned chair again. Never having to endure the multitude of little indignities he experienced on a daily basis. Never again seeing the sorrow in Raven's eyes when she thought he wasn't looking.

But for good or ill, that wasn't the part of his brain currently controlling his vocal cords. That would be the part that was outraged. “How dare you call me broken.”

Erik's puzzled expression clearly said, “But you are.”

Charles itched to deck him. “You are such an insensitive asshole! I'm a whole hell of a lot more than just a pair of legs that don't work, no matter what the rest of the world -- or a god -- thinks. Everything that makes me who I am is still intact. These,” he gestured at his legs, "are just window dressing.” He glared at Erik. “Bad enough I have to face those kinds of attitudes out in the world. I will not tolerate them in my own home.”

“I'm sorry,” Erik said, and it felt sincere.

Whatever. Charles wasn't ready to accept his apology yet. “I'm going to lie down for a while. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

“No, I can't,” Erik said, his voice maddeningly calm. “Ten feet, remember.”

Charles let out an aggrieved sigh. “Then come on.”

“Let me find a book.”

Charles waited impatiently while Erik perused the shelves, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to unkink the knotted mess his mid-back had become.

Erik finally selected a fat paperback, fiction, from somewhere in the H's, Charles thought, maybe Heinlein.

Erik followed him back to the bedroom, a few steps behind. Charles switched to the bed, removed his shoes, lifted his legs onto the mattress. He was about to turn over and get comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he could when his back was screaming this loudly, when he realized Erik was sliding those form-fitting jeans down his long legs. “What are you doing?” he asked, mouth going dry. No matter how mad at him he might be, Erik was gorgeous.

“Getting comfortable.”

“Well, you're making me uncomfortable.”

Erik chuckled. “You humans have too many hangups. It's just skin.”

Not when it was Erik wearing the skin. Charles sighed and wrestled his body into position on his stomach, hoping he could erase the image of naked Erik from his mind once he wasn't actually looking at him.

It didn't help anything but his back, which loosened marginally. The images of all that hard muscle and tawny skin, of that massive cock in its nest of red-brown curls, those were etched into his brain. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep.

After a few minutes, he felt Erik shift on the bed. “Gods aren't accustomed to making apologies,” he began, “and I'm not going to pretend I understand.” Erik placed his hand on Charies' mid-back, right over the worst of the tangled muscles. “You may not want me to use my powers on you, but I can at least do this the human way.” He began to massage Charles' back, his touch firm but gentle.

Charles groaned low in his throat as his knotted muscles began to relax under Erik's ministrations.

Some time later, when Charles had been reduced to little more than a puddle of contented goo, Erik laid his hand on Charles' shoulder. “Rest a while. We're going back to Logan's in a few hours. His band's playing, and I refuse to miss that."

Charles started to reply, but Erik cut him off. “I suggest you stick to beer this time.”

**~xXx~**

Even dead asleep, Charles was beautiful. Those cerulean eyes might be closed, but his lashes made appealing little semicircles just above his cheekbones. His upper lashes were all dark, but the lower ones were a mix of dark and amber.

His hair was a deep, rich chestnut, shot through with russet highlights, and it tumbled in gentle waves onto his cheek and over his brow. His lips were plump cherry-red curves, and his porcelain skin was dusted liberally with tawny freckles.

He was beautiful, yes, but it was a fragile beauty, a human beauty, a beauty that could so easily be scarred, could so easily be destroyed.

And while Erik had scars, scars from battles with other gods, remnants of wounds inflicted by immortal weapons, those wounds had nonetheless healed swiftly, leaving behind only the scoring of his skin, leaving him otherwise unscathed.

Charles' scars went far deeper. Erik had felt some of them, and not just the expected ones along his spine. Those were thick twists of fibrous tissue that ran from low on his ribcage to the small of his back. But there was also a narrow scar along his right side and a somewhat thicker one that arced across his left shoulderblade. And that was just his back; Erik suspected there were more he hadn't found yet.

He wondered again what had happened to Charles. He'd intimated that it had been in a war zone, but Erik was sure that wasn't all of the story.

He hated to wake Charles, but Logan would be going on soon, and Erik intended to be at his table, drink in hand, when that happened.

He bent, shook Charles' shoulder gently.

One blue eye cracked open.

“We need to leave for Logan's soon.”

“Not going.”

“You're going because I'm going.”

“Go away.” The eye closed.

“No.”

Charles sighed. “You're a pain in the arse. Not that I can actually feel my arse.”

“I wouldn't mind feeling your arse.”

Charles huffed his annoyance, then he rolled himself onto his side.

“How's your back?”

“Better.” Grudging.

“You're welcome.”

Charles glared at him as he pushed himself to a sitting position, then scowled as he surveyed his badly wrinkled shirt. He sighed again, unbuttoned the cuffs and then the shirt itself.

Erik feigned nonchalance as Charles shrugged out of his shirt. The man's chest and arms were as beautiful as his face. Yes, there were more scars, a thin line low across his ribcage, a vertical one on his belly that disappeared past the waistband of his pants, a long slash down his left bicep, but they scarcely detracted from the perfection -- fair skin dappled with golden freckles, muscles sculpted from fine marble, the slight peaks of his pinkish-tan nipples, the barest hint of the dark hair leading down from his navel. An upper body that could tempt a god to sin.

But in spite of his words to Raven, he really did believe that gods and mortals should stick to their own kind. He tried to drag his eyes away, but they returned like a compass pointing to magnetic north.

It was harder still to look away when Charles moved to his wheelchair, the flex and play of the muscles of that chest, those arms and shoulders, the strength Erik knew it must require to make the transfer so fluidly. Maybe he truly had been wrong to dismiss Charles as broken. Maybe.

He continued to watch as Charles settled his feet on the leg rests then wheeled over to the closet. He was about to select another plain white button-down when Erik stopped him. “Wear one of the blue ones. It'll bring out the color of your eyes.”

Charles shrugged and snagged a cobalt shirt.

**~xXx~**

Less than an hour later, they were at Erik's customary table.

A stunning redhead in a deep teal dress that contrasted beautifully with her fiery hair approached the table. “Can I get you boys something to eat? Patty melt's the special of the day.”

Charles stared at her, mesmerized. “What?”

“Patty melts -- burgers on rye with swiss cheese and grilled onions.” She rattled off the description, but Charles barely heard her.

She cocked an eyebrow, looked at Erik. “This the guy Logan was telling me about?”

“Yeah.”

Charles pulled himself out of his reverie. 'Charles Xavier. I saw you last night.”

“Call me Jean. So what can I get you boys?”

“Patty melt and a beer,” Erik said, “and bring my scotch.”

“Works for me,” Charles said.

Jean nodded and walked off, hips swinging, skirt swishing.

A tall deity with oddly-styled dark hair and weird sideburns was setting up the stage, trying stage-set after stage-set with simple flicks of a wrist. He finally settled on a minimalist set-up -- a few spotlights, a little smoke, and a dais for the drums.

“I take it that's Logan.”

“Yeah.”

“So who else is he?”

“Most recently, Coyote. He made the rounds of a number of Native American tribes. Before that, he was Bres, Brighid's consort. When the Catholics took over Ireland, Jean decided to stay on as a saint. Logan took off for the wilds of Canada, then worked his way south and west. And before Bres, he was Cupid.”

“Cupid?” Charles stared at the long-legged deity. “Isn't he a little tall?”

“Late growth spurt.”

Charles barked out a laugh.

The young-looking redhead Erik had said was Dionysus ambled up to the table and addressed Erik. “Hey, dude, what's up?” He sounded like a stereotypical stoner.

Erik offered a polite smile that didn't entirely reach his eyes. “Sean, this is Charles. Charles, Sean.”

“Holy shit, man. When did you--? You've always been so against 'fraternizing' with humans.”

Erik shrugged. “Ever since I looked into those hypnotic blue eyes.”

Sean's gaze raked over Charles with a keenness that belied his easygoing façade. “Even though--”

Erik cut him off. “Don't go there.”

Sean shrugged. “Whatever, man.” And he sauntered off.

Charles stared at Erik. “What the hell was that about?”

“Get used to it. Everyone here is wondering who you are and why you're sitting with an avowed separatist.”

“I notice you didn't mention the Summoning.”

“Keep your voice down if you know what's good for you.”

“Pardon?” Erik's high-handedness was getting old.

“If anyone knows, they'll regard you as a threat that needs to be neutralized. Better to let them think you're a meaningless dalliance. Logan knows the truth. I trust him, and I trust Jean. No one else.”

Oh. “Then if we're supposed to be together, shouldn't we sit closer, or maybe hold hands?”

Charles could feel Erik's discomfort rolling off him in waves. “I guess we'd better.”

Charles unlocked his wheels, did a quick three-point turn, then backed up beside Erik.

With a casual wave of his hand, Erik slid the table over until it was centered between them, then he took Charles' hand and attempted a smile.

“You look like you just swallowed rat poison.” _And you feel like a saguaro cactus, all prickly._

Erik flinched a little at the touch of Charles' mind, but then he took a deep breath and a wave of calm washed over him. His features rearranged into something that looked like genuine contentment, and his smile was now sunny, not stormy. “Is this better?” he asked, his voice now projecting warm affection.

Erik's raw charisma was intoxicating when he chose to use it. Even though Charles knew he was only putting on a show, Erik was magnetic, irresistible. _It's not real,_ he reminded himself. “Much better,” he said.

The platinum blonde from the night before swept up to the table, and she appraised Charles with a cool eye. “I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes. You finally crossed over to the dark side.”

“Back off, Emma,” Erik growled.

“Oh, don't worry, sugar. If I really wanted him, I'd have him.” She wrinkled her nose as her eyes swept over Charles. “And why would I want a beat-up old Mustang when I can have a Ferrari.” She strolled away, head high.

Charles bristled, but Erik squeezed his hand and projected calm. _She's not worth it._

Charles sighed, spoke quietly. “I didn't think gods would be such idiots. I get this all the time from humans. I guess I expected gods to know better.”

Now Erik sighed. “We're relics of another time, when the world was a harsher place.”

“It still pisses me off.”

Erik squeezed his hand again, this time out of what felt like genuine affection. “I know. Feel free to get pissed off. Just don't act on it tonight; I don't want to get tossed before the show even starts.”

Charles managed a smile, though it was a little tight, a little tense. “You're in luck. I think they're about to start.”

Erik looked up at the stage. “Cool.”

Just as the house lights went down and the stage lights rose, Jean returned with food and drinks. Charles studied the fat, juicy burger and the mound of glistening fries beside it in the bright red basket, then he took a sip of the beer, deciding that the bitter, hoppy brew was the perfect choice to cut through the richness of the food. He dug in.

And then Logan hit the stage. He recognized Thor as the drummer, but he had no idea who the dark-haired, glowering bassist was. Regardless, they were good, even if not to his usual tastes. He settled in to listen.

**~xXx~**

Erik lost himself in the music the moment Logan took the stage, strutting about like he owned it (which of course he did), his vocals sweeping from a snarling baritone to a majestic tenor and back.

They were a classic power trio tonight, just Logan on vocals and guitar, Loki on bass, and Thor on drums, and they cycled through an impressive list of classic rock and metal tunes.

The crowd was into it tonight. He saw Mercury at one of the front tables, silver-haired head bobbing as he air-drummed to Rush's “Tom Sawyer.”

And there was Janus in the corner. Erik hadn't seen him much since he'd moved to the Aztec pantheon. Wait, hadn't Raven been his consort back then?

As the band neared the finale of their first set, Erik felt the shift of warping realities as a trio of latecomers translated in. He growled to himself about their rudeness, then he froze, not even breathing, as he recognized the trio.

Azazel, who had been the original Mercury, back in the days when the Titans still ruled. Janos, wind god across a dozen pantheons. And the former god who now called himself Sebastian Shaw.

Sebastian fucking Shaw. Onetime Ares. Onetime Apollo. Erik's immediate predecessor at both those posts. Fuck!

The set came to an end without Erik's really hearing it, and Logan headed backstage before Erik could catch his eye. But Jean had seen the new arrivals and was heading straight for him.

“Get him the fuck out of here,” he growled.

“Can't, unless he makes trouble. Logan's rules.”

Erik sighed. “Everyone's welcome. Play nice. Or you will be removed -- in pieces.”

Jean gave him a tight half-smile. “Those are the ones. But I hope like hell he breaks them.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “I gotta go. Table three's order is up, and they get cranky when they have to wait for food.” She nodded toward a table of feast gods near the stage.

“Go,” he said. “I'll behave. He looked over at Charles, who regarded him quizzically. “The guy who just came in here like he owns the place -- we have history.”

Charles arched a brow in a silent “tell me more.”

Erik shook his head. “I'm not nearly drunk enough.”

And that was when Shaw walked up to the table. “Mars,” he said. “Oh, sorry, Ares. No, wait, Apollo.”

“It's Erik now,” he snarled. “Get the hell out of my face.”

“Is that any way to talk to a colleague?”

“Former colleague,” Erik retorted, taking delight in Shaw's widened pupils, the increase in his breathing. “You were stripped of your powers.”

“And you seem to have willingly given up yours. Consorting with humans is beneath us, especially one so obviously damaged.”

“This human is worth ten of you.” Jean shot him a warning glance; he was getting a bit loud. He modulated his voice. “He is worth a hundred of you. He risked his life to save others in a war zone.”

Shaw chuckled. “You may think so now, but just wait until the Council restores my powers at the dark of the moon. I have sources that assure me the vote will go my way. So think carefully, Ares, which side you will be on in this battle.”

“The council will never restore your powers.” Said with more conviction than he felt. “But if they do, give me a call so I can drink to the end of the world.”

Shaw's eyes filled with cold fury, and he turned and stalked off, Janos and Azazel trailing in his wake.

Erik turned back to Charles, expecting to have to explain about Shaw, not expecting Charles to be staring at him with open revulsion twisting his fine features, with what-the-fuck reflecting in those sky-blue eyes.

“Charles? What's wrong?”

“You were Ares.” His voice was deadly calm.

“Yes. And Mars.”

“You were fucking Ares.” Not so calm, but still deadly.

“I'm not sure what you're thinking.” An attempt at the voice of reason, difficult when he wasn't sure what part of his being Ares had Charles so upset.

“Ares was a monster, a butcher, an underhanded bastard who'd do anything to stir up suffering.”

That hadn't been him. “It's not like you think.”

“I think the legends are quite clear.”

Jean was shooting another warning look his way. “And I think we need to not have this discussion here.”

“I'm not going anywhere with--”

Before Charles could finish his sentence, Erik translated them back to Charles' library.

“H-how dare you,” Charles sputtered.

“If you'd gotten me thrown out of my favorite bar,” Erik said with a calm he didn't feel, “I'd have been really pissed. The whole 'in pieces' thing hurts, and it takes a while to make sure everything's back where it belongs.”

“You're mocking me.”

“No, to mock you, I'd need to understand why you were so fucking angry in the first place.”

“You were fucking Ares,” Charles repeated implacably.

“Yes, I was fucking Ares.”

“And Ares is a liar and a master manipulator. You led me on, you made me believe I had a chance to persuade you to end war, and all along you were an unfeeling butcher who slaughtered innocents.”

“Fuck you, Charles.” The man understood nothing.

“Now there's an intelligent response.”

“I don't have to justify myself to you.”

“You could have at least let me know I was wasting my time, that you never had any intention of granting my wish.”

“You really don't understand how the Summoning works, do you?”

Charles frowned, his brows knitted together. “Enlighten me then,” he said darkly.

“I have a moon-cycle to persuade you otherwise, but if I cannot, I am bound to grant your wish, no matter how ruinous I believe it to be. Even killing you wouldn't necessarily unbind me, and I would pay a steep price for the attempt. But even if I wasn't bound by the summoning, I still wouldn't lie to you.”

The set of Charles' shoulders had relaxed marginally, but he still looked pretty pissed. “How do I know I can trust you. You were still Ares.”

“For a few hundred years, and before that I was Mars for a few hundred more. I explained to you that these are offices, roles that we immortals fill. My predecessor as Ares was a bloodthirty bastard. Don't judge me by his actions.” Erik was pretty well pissed off himself, and he really needed a drink. “Got any booze in this place?”

If the sudden segue startled Charles, he didn't show it. He was looking less murderous now, and he pointed to a door on one wall of the library.

Erik went and swung the door open to find not merely the liquor cabinet he'd expected, but a sizeable liquor closet. He glanced back at Charles, brows raised.

Charles shrugged. “Alcoholism is an old family tradition.”

Erik selected a bottle of scotch, maybe not quite as fine as Logan's but still pretty damned good, and two cut-glass tumblers, then stepped out of the closet.

He handed Charles one tumbler, set the other on the chessboard, and opened the bottle. He took an appreciative sniff, poured some into Charles tumbler then into his own.

Charles took a sip. “I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said ungraciously. He licked those crimson lips, stared at Erik with those vividly blue eyes.

Erik's nerves still sang with the raw energy of the fight. His anger had mostly ebbed, but he remained recklessly on edge. “There's something I'd like much more than an apology,” he said huskily, then he threw back his scotch.

Charles remained wary. “What's that?”

“To do this.” He closed the distance between them, tilted Charles' head back, and planted a searing kiss on those lush lips, tongue sliding past to meet Charles'.

Charles stiffened in surprise for just a moment, his glass falling to the floor, then his hands found Erik's shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt, holding him close. Charles tasted faintly of scotch but mostly of something indefinable and heady.

Erik buried his hands in Charles' hair, that silky heavy mass of chestnut waves, cradling Charles' head, keeping those lips pressed to his.

Charles hands slid down to Erik's sides, then his oh-so-strong arms circled his torso.

A dim corner of Erik's brain registered that this might not be such a good idea. But his body disagreed, and the rest of his brain seemed willing to listen to his body.

And Charles definitely seemed to be on the same page with Erik's body. His hands cupped Erik's ass, squeezed hard enough to have left marks if immortals bruised, and his tongue twined with Erik's in a fierce dance of taste and touch. He could smell the light earthiness of Charles' cologne, overlaid with the musk of his sweat. And the solid planes of his back and shoulders were warm under Erik's roving hands.

But all good things must come to an end, and they eventually, reluctantly, drew apart. Charles' eyes had deepened to cobalt, his pupils blown wide with desire, and those red-as-sin lips were kiss-swollen and had darkened nearly to burgundy.

Erik sank into the chair beside the chessboard. “Well, fuck.”

Charles' eyes gleamed with lust and amusement. 'Was that a comment or an invitation?”

Erik scrubbed his hand across his face, considering. “Both,” he said.


	4. Sexing and Talking

They stared at each other, god and mortal, blue eyes and ever-changing ones.

"I thought you didn't believe in "fraternising" with humans."

Erik shrugged. "I don't." He smiled, tempting and taunting. "Perhaps you can change my mind?"

"Perhaps I can."

Charles' breathing was rapid and his pulse was racing, but he tried to maintain an air of calm as he wheeled towards Erik.

"Climb on up, knees on either side of my thighs," he said, making his voice as low and enticing as he could.

Erik hesitated, for a horrible moment Charles thought he was having second thoughts, then he climbed up on the wheelchair. His crotch was now inches from Charles' face. He marvelled at the bulge in Erik's jeans. He put one hand on it. Erik twitched. Very gently he rubbed his fingers over Erik's semi. Erik didn't make a sound or move an inch, but Charles could feel his arousal ratchet up. Charles dragged his nails over the patch of denim covering his prick. Another spike in Erik's arousal. Charles leant forwards and rubbed his face, his chin, his cheeks, his nose over Erik's erection. He could feel the heat through the fabric.

He looked up. Erik's face was impassive except for a tic at the corner of his mouth, but his thoughts were racing. Charles smiled, slow and filthy, and unzipped his jeans. He wasn't wearing underwear. Charles tugged them down just low enough to free his prick. God, it was beautiful; long, thick, cut and deep red with the increased blood flow. He drew his lips all over it, then kissed his way to the head. Erik tasted wonderful, salty with sweat, but with some delicious spicy flavour too.

Charles looked up again. He locked eyes with Erik and took the head into his mouth. Erik's eyes widened and he put his hands on Charles' shoulders to steady himself. Charles started sucking, gently at first, then more eagerly. He pulled off and licked him like a lollipop. He flickered his tongue all over Erik's cock head, wiggling the tip in his slit. Then he took him down again, deeper this time. His tongue writhed around the hard length in his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked really hard. Erik whimpered.

Charles grinned around his cock, then took him still deeper. Erik swayed a little. His mind was lit up like Times Square at New Year's. Charles felt for the switch in his own head that turned off his gag reflex and flipped it. He took Erik all the way down his throat. His nose was pressed into the red-brown curls of his pubes. Erik's taut balls trembled against his chin. He smelt rich and earthy.

He pulled off, then took him down again, humming happily. Erik moaned. Yes! Result! Charles kept deep throating him until his throat was raw and tears were running down his cheeks. Erik's arousal was a physical force beating on his skull.

How . . . how much can you feel?

Even Erik's mental voice sounded rough with desire.

I've a little feeling, mmm, in my cock and some sensation, hnnn, in my thighs.

In that case, aah, come into my head, Charles.

Charles leapt at the opportunity. Erik's mind was vast. The bright places were like looking straight at the tropical midday sun. The dark spots were like the absolute black of space. Layer upon layer of fractal complexity. Erik's arousal was like a volcano, the earth didn't just move, it tore apart and lava shot out and Charles was consumed by the flames.

He was vaguely aware of something hot, wet, sweet and bitter spurting on his tongue and sliding down the back of his throat. He felt a spasm shake him and shuddered and sobbed through his own orgasm.

When he came to, Erik was slumped over the back of the chair, one flank resting on Charles' shoulder. He looked down and saw a wet patch on his own pants. That was unusual, he didn't often ejaculate, but then he'd never fucked a god before.

Erik levered himself up with a groan and clambered off the wheelchair. He tucked his soft but still large cock into his jeans and zipped them up. Charles found he loved the idea of Erik putting himself away dirty.

"You taste like a really great Chinese meal," he blurted out.

Erik laughed, warm and surprised.

"So, ready to end all war?"

He thought he'd gone too far, but Erik laughed again and said:

"It wasn't that good a blow-job."

His mind was broadcasting that it had been the best he'd had in millennia, so Charles was able to remain smug. He wheeled himself into one of the downstairs bathrooms and cleaned up. When he returned to the library Erik was gazing out of the window into the darkness.

"What was all that with the Shaw arsehole?"

"I'm not drunk enough for that,' said Erik, parroting back Charles' words from the other day.

"We can soon remedy that."

He got out a fresh bottle of scotch.

"This is Highland Park, an eighteen year old single malt. The touches of smoke and fruitiness are subtle and it goes down like liquid velvet."

Erik took a sip.

"Not as good as Logan's, but damn close."

"So, Shaw?"

Erik sighed. "He was my predecessor as both Ares and Apollo, though he proved to be an appallingly bad choice for Apollo. He was no god of wisdom, and he only fancied himself god of science and medicine. As Ares, he was responsible for most of the messes you were blaming me for. He thought humans weren't efficient or effective enough fighting machines. He wanted soldiers who could do the sort of damage as an individual that modern weaponry can deliver. He started messing with human DNA. He knew he wouldn't get results for centuries, but that's nothing to a god. We're allowed to interfere in human affairs, but only to a limited extent. This was way more than was acceptable. So, he was stripped of his godhead. I replaced him. He's like a human now, a super-powered and immortal human, but a human nonetheless."

Charles stared. "Are you saying mutation is down to some god wanting new and improved killing machines?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Mutation is a perfectly natural process. It's been happening for aeons. We, mutants, are the result of evolution, natural selection, not some godly dickhead fucking around with the building blocks of life like a toddler making a tower because he wants to knock it down."

"That's all true. What I'm saying is that Shaw gave evolution a nudge. He messed with one of the fundamental foundations of life on this planet. That's why I was one of the strongest supporters of demoting, sorry, changing him into a human. That's why he hates me. Unfortunately he still has supporters among some of the old die hards. That's why the Council is considering reinstating him."

Charles frowned. "What would that mean for you?"

"I'd no longer be the god of war. I'd still have science, medicine and wisdom though. And one of my greatest enemies would be as powerful as me once more."

"Ouch."

"Ouch indeed."

Erik smiled that seductive smile. "I've spilled the beans, how about you tell me why your wish is so important to you."

Charles thought of Gabby and the . . . the other.

"There's not enough whisky in the world or even in Logan's bar to make me spill that."

Erik bowed his head. They carried on idly chatting and drinking. Erik seemed fascinated by the internet, particularly the social media aspects. Charles filled him in as best he could, but told him he really needed to speak to Raven, who was a social media maven. Raven and maven. Hey, that rhymed. Charles realised he was getting pretty drunk. Erik remained awe inspiringly sober. Charles could feel his eyes closing. He had to get upstairs and do his night time routine. He had to get out of the chair or he'd be in agony tomorrow. He promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Raven wandered through the house, enjoying the morning light and looking for Charles. And Erik too, she supposed, since they seemed joined at the hip. OK, that was an image she needed to get out of her head. She pushed open the library door. Erik was asleep on the sofa. Charles was asleep in his chair, neck at an awkward angle. She felt a tide of godly fury rise up from her toes to the top of her head. All the glasses and bottles in the drinks cabinet clinked and jingled. Erik sat up, looking ready for a fight. Good, he was going to get one.

"Oh, you asshole, I'm going to tear you a new one."

Erik looked surprised.

"What have I done?"

"What have you done? What have you done?"

Raven could feel her body wanting to grow fangs and claws. She took a deep breath and pushed down the urge to try and tear Erik's throat out. He was a god of war, so she wouldn't have much luck with that. Plus, Charles wouldn't like it. She was so going to trick the hell out of Erik when this fling was over. And he wouldn't be able to touch her because he wouldn't have a shred of proof. He might be stronger, but she was infinitely more cunning, more cunning even than that dickwad Loki.

"In case you haven't noticed, Charles has to use a wheelchair. If he wants to avoid shitting and pissing himself he has to follow a strict routine. If he sleeps in his chair he gets these agonising back spasms."

Erik had the grace to look guilty.

"I didn't realise. He was drunk, I thought he'd be fine as he was."

"That's another thing. He's been drunk more often in two days with you than in the last six months. His mother was an alcoholic. After he got injured, he damn near became one himself."

Erik got up and formally bowed in apology. She hesitated, then bowed back in acceptance.

"Let's get him upstairs."

They didn't bother with the elevator. Erik levitated them up the grand staircase. Raven undressed Charles. She catheterised him and drained his bladder. He muttered and moaned, but never really became fully conscious. She administered an enema - Charles mumbled and struggled a little, but his eyes never opened - and they waited for it to work. Normally she'd have kept Charles' morning routine strictly private, but she felt Erik ought to know just what Charles had to go through every day.

As they waited for the enema to take effect, Erik asked:

"What happened to him?"

"He was with Médecins Sans Frontières in Syria. The hospital he was working in was bombed. A lot of the medical staff ran for it, but he stayed on to try to evacuate his patients. The ward he was on, the children's ward, took a direct hit. He was shot through with shrapnel and the roof fell on him. He was airlifted to the States, barely alive, spine and legs crushed. I'd have healed him if I could, but the damage was too great. It took all my powers just to keep him alive. I was so drained I was stuck in this form for weeks afterwards. Just as well mutants are a thing now."

Fuck, she hated to remember that time.

"He was so fucked up, not just physically, mentally too. Feeling all those people suffering and dying all around him. At first he wouldn't do anything to help his recovery. Wouldn't take his meds. Wouldn't do his physio. Wouldn't talk to a shrink. Kept trying to push me away."

She laughed.

"As if he had a chance in hell of scaring off a goddess like me. I was brutal with him. Wouldn't give an inch. I nagged and pleaded and cried and shouted and generally pulled every trick in the book. He didn't have a chance. He got better despite his best efforts. Then he started getting really militant about rights for people with disabilities. He said he wasn't broken, he just had different needs from the majority. He went on marches and lobbied and petitioned. I had a great time, fucking up the opposition. I'm proud to say there's at least one disabilities rights act that wouldn't have passed if it hadn't been for me blackmailing one congressman and bribing another."

Erik gave her a long look.

"You really do love him."

She gave him the thousand yard stare.

"Yep."

"You know he'll be dead in a handful of years."

"I do and that's why he's going to have the best fucking life I can help him achieve. Not that he needs much help, stubborn little bastard."

Erik laughed.

"Yeah, I'd noticed that about him."

Charles groaned and farted.

"Looks like the enema's working."

She went to clean him up. Erik stopped her with a hand on her blue scaled arm.

"Let me."

She gazed at him thoughtfully, then nodded.

Erik cleaned him up as gently and thoroughly as she would've. Hmmm, perhaps he felt more for her brother than he was letting on. He dressed him in boxers and a tee, laid him on the bed and pulled a sheet over his lower half. It was hot enough that he wouldn't need anything else.

"I can feel he's going to be in pain when he wakes up. I'd like to take it away."

"I won't tell if you don't."

Erik ran his hands all over Charles body. He sighed and relaxed as the pain flowed away.

"He'll sleep till two in the afternoon most likely. Don't take his hangover away. It'll discourage him from doing this again."

"Harsh."

"The desert is harsh and that's where I come from."

He smiled. "Harsh but beautiful."

She laughed. "You silver tongued devil. That's your Apollo side coming out. Come and tell me what's been going on with all those assholes up there while I've been enjoying myself down here."

They sat on the veranda, drinking iced tea and gazing out across the gardens and the cliff edge to the sea. They spoke of old goddesses and gods, ancient rivalries and the new deities that arose as the world turned and changed. Charles slept pain-free and peaceful in his bed.


	5. More Sexing and Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See the chapter title...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't want to read a Logan/Jean sex scene, skip from "Jean leaned into the heat of his body" to the scene break...

Logan came backstage after his third and final set of the night, face and forearms sheened with sweat, his t-shirt damp and molded to his muscular torso.

Even after a few millenia together, Logan could still make Jean's heart race. But tonight her libido needed to take a back seat to the information she'd gleaned while waitressing. Not that she wouldn't still enjoy the view, and maybe even a bit more.

She handed Logan a towel, and he mopped his face, then he stripped off his sweaty shirt and tossed it aside. His chiseled pecs and abs took her breath away for a moment, but she inhaled deeply and forced herself to focus. “We have a problem,” she said.

He nodded. “I saw Shaw.”

“He's trying to get reinstated.”

Logan let out a low whistle. “Fuck.”

“He seems to think he has the support this time. And he's planning something more, something big. I only got bits and pieces, but he's looking for revenge.”

Logan's eyes narrowed. “Erik,” he said flatly.

Jean nodded. “And it sounds like the Summoning is somehow part of his plan.”

“Double fuck.”

“We need to warn him.”

His expression softened as he regarded her. “You do it. You heard the details.” He closed the distance between them, wrapped her in his arms, kissed her tenderly. “I'll hold down the fort until you get back.”

Jean leaned into the heat of his body, drank in his musky scent, then pulled him into another kiss, this one full of savage passion. “There's something we need to do first,” she said. “It's not every night I get you hot off the stage.”

His hazel eyes smoldered, olive and amber and chocolate. “I like the way you think.”

“Then think fast.” Her hands went to the snap of his jeans.

He growled and reached behind her for the zipper on her dress.

She laughed and opened the snap.

He lowered the zipper to the small of her back and slid the dress off her shoulders.

She stepped back for a moment and let the dress slither to the floor. She picked it up -- it was one of her favorites -- and draped it over a chair, then returned her attention to Logan, whose gaze hadn't wavered from her now-naked form.

With a flick of her powers, she unzipped his jeans, letting his cock spring free. It was a cock worthy of a former god of love, big and perfectly shaped. 'Is that for me?” she asked.

“Fuck yeah,” he said. He used his own powers to tug off his boots, one at a time, then he shoved the jeans down his long, powerful legs.

She barely waited for him to step out of them before she pounced, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against his magnificent hairy chest, claiming his lips for another searing kiss.

She could feel his cock coming to attention against her belly, could also feel herself growing moist in anticipation.

Logan turned her just slightly, but enough to reach between them and slip his hand between her legs. His fingers traced her vaginal lips, feather-light and teasing. She shuddered against him, clutched madly at his shoulders as one finger slipped inside her. _More. Please._

He grinned at her, wolfish and hungry. He kissed her again as he slid a second finger into her, began a slow, steady rhythm. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent.

Her hand closed on his cock, and she took delight in his hiss of surprise and pleasure. Her thumb traced a circle around the head, then her index finger toyed with the slit.

He drove his other fingers into her, fucking her furiously as his thumb set a delicious counterpoint over her clitoris. Her rhythm on his cock faltered.

 _Your cock. In me. Now._ She dragged him in for another kiss, but he surprised her, lifting her up with those broad, long-fingered hands and impaling her on his cock.

“Not gonna last long tonight,” he warned as he began slamming that amazing cock into her.

“Me either.” She could already feel her own orgasm building, gaining momentum like a freight train on a downgrade. Her nails dug into the backs of his shoulders, though she knew the marks would vanish as soon as they appeared.

He drove into her harder, faster, with utter abandon. He bit at her shoulder, then his hands found her nipples, brushing over them with maddening delicacy.

She was gone, tumbling into an abyss of pleasure that seemed to have no end. Her body, trembled, shook, then convulsed.

As her muscles clenched, Logan followed her over the edge, his head arching back, his lips spreading into a goofy grin, those hazel eyes rolling back in his skull.

Jean coasted back to reality, her nerve endings humming with pleasure.

Logan had just enough functioning brain cells left to pull his softening cock out of her and give her a gentle kiss.

“I'm going to go get cleaned up,” she said, “then I'll go find Erik.”

Logan's brain cells managed a smile and a nod.

She kissed him on the cheek and went to take a shower.

**~xXx~**

Charles awoke to a painfully bright, loud world. His stomach churned, and his head felt like the cast of Stomp had taken up residence inside his skull. He groaned, which just hurt his ears and his head more, then he cautiously opened an eye. And promptly closed it again. A naked Erik -- naked and delectable, though he was in no shape to take advantage of the delectable part -- lounged on his bed, reading a book.

“Welcome back to the land of the living."

“I'm not sure this is living.”

He felt the bed shift, fought the roll in his stomach the movement caused. He heard Erik's footsteps, soft on the carpet, then water running in the bathroom.

Erik returned, saying, “I've got water and painkillers here.”

“Can't you just do what you did before?”

“I think your sister would kill me,” Erik said, as if Raven could actually hurt a god. “She told me you needed the hangover to remind you not to do this again.”

Charles muttered a few choice words about meddlesome sisters and pried his eyes open.

Bright. Bright. Bright. And naked Erik standing by the bed.

Charles pushed himself up on one elbow and held out his hand. Erik dropped the painkillers into it -- the strong ones, Charles noted happily, the ones he usually reserved for the days his back spasms were at their worst. Charles popped the pills into his mouth and reached for the glass.

“Drink it all,” Erik ordered. “You'll be dehydrated.”

Charles scowled, but he finished the glass.

He pushed himself the rest of the way to a sitting position, realized his t-shirt wasn't what he'd been wearing last night. “You put me to bed.”

“Raven and I together. After she ripped me a new one for letting you fall asleep in your chair. You've got a fierce protector there.”

Charles smiled, would have nodded had the throbbing in his skull permitted it. “She got me through when --” he gestured at his legs, mercifully concealed by a sheet.

“She told me,” Erik said. “About Syria. The hospital. The bombing.”

Charles was in no mood to talk about that.

“But I know there's more to the story.”

“Fuck off, Erik.”

Erik continued, voice low and gentle. “I won't push, but I hope someday you'll trust me enough to tell me the rest of the story.”

Fat chance. He'd never even told Raven the whole story, not in three years, four months, and six days. He wasn't going to tell Erik after a mere handful of days.

His wheelchair sat in its customary spot, within easy reach. He eyed it with a mental groan. He just wasn't ready to move yet, not until the painkillers kicked in, but he knew there were things he needed to take care of, things long overdue. Unless--

Fuck but he didn't want to ask this. “When you and Raven put me to bed, did you do anything but change my clothes?”

Erik looked almost as embarrassed as Charles felt. “We did. She catheterized you and gave you an enema, then I helped clean you up.”

Now Charles felt even more embarrassed. “I'm sorry you had to do that.”

“Why.”

“For one thing, I'm sure it's put you off of any sexual notions you might have had. It's hard to be attracted to a guy when you've seen a tube shoved up his dick and helped clean shit off his arse.”

Erik shook his head. “Rather the opposite, actually. It taught me just how strong you really are, dealing with this on a daily basis. I misjudged you. I understand now why you say you're not broken, just different.”

Charles was speechless. And still very hung over. He'd need to process this later, but for now, “Apology accepted.”

Erik smiled, then he bent down and kissed Charles, gentle and chaste but with the promise of more. “I still don't believe relationships between gods and mortals are a good idea, but for you I'm willing to make an exception.”

**~xXx~**

Raven was pacing in the main hallway, too full of nervous energy to stay still. Her agent had called a few minutes ago to say she'd made the short list for a lead role in a new romantic thriller.

It still made her laugh with utter delight that it was now “in” to be mutant, especially in the arts, and that the form she'd adopted upon meeting Charles gave her entrée into that world. Humans worshipping her as a film star, not a deity. What a cool trick to make them believe.

The doorbell rang, and she glanced toward the upstairs. Hopefully Charles would sleep through it.

She hurried to the door before the bell could ring again, and she pulled it open to find someone she recognized -- a fellow goddess and Coyote's on-again-off-again girlfriend. “Brighid.”

The other goddess smiled warmly. “I go by Jean these days.”

“Still Raven,” Raven said.

Jean gave her a quick, friendly hug. “Is Erik around? I really need to talk to him.”

“He's with Charles. They're probably still asleep -- late night drinking.”

Jean gave her another smile and a chuckle. “I know. Logan -- Coyote -- owns a bar now, and Erik is one of our regular customers.”

That figured. “So that's why my brother's been getting so smashed. Liquor of the gods.”

Jean nodded, then frowned. “Wait. Brother? How is a human your brother?”

“He was lonely. I was bored. He got his mother to adopt me. So I'm really fond of the little fucker.”

Jean nodded again. “So you must be shitting bricks over this whole Summoning thing.”

Summoning? Summoning? Summoning!  
Erik was going to have a lot of explaining to do once she got him away from Charles' side, a tall order if there was a Summoning involved.

“You didn't know,” Jean said, and Raven remembered, too late, her powers included telepathy.

Raven shook her head. “Not your fault someone is a lying bastard who's about to get a piece of my mind up the ass.”

“Be careful,' Jean said. He's one of the more powerful among us.”

“I know. But I'm trickier.”

Jean tried to suppress her smile.

“I'll go see if my brother and his Summonee are awake. Have a seat in the parlor.” She pointed to a doorway, then turned and sprinted up the stairs.

**~xXx~**

Erik could see when the painkillers started kicking in. Charles stopped squinting against the light, stopped wincing every time he moved his head, stopped talking about murdering Raven.

Which proved to be a really good thing when Raven walked through the door. Her gaze zeroed in on Erik and she announced, “There's someone here to see you; she says her name's Jean,”

What was she doing here? Had Shaw pulled something after Erik had left?

Erik shot a glance at Charles, still in bed, still in nothing but a tee and boxers, nowhere near ready to face the day -- or company. “Is there somewhere up here where we could meet? I don't want to go far from Charles.”

Raven gave him such a sour look. What was up with that? He thought she would argue, but she just said, “There's an empty bedroom next door. Will that do?”

“Fine.”

Charles nodded as Erik excused himself. He was concentrating much harder on getting himself out of bed. Even the painkillers hadn't entirely erased the hangover; he was moving slowly, gingerly, tensed against the pain.

Raven showed Erik next door, hissed, “We should talk,” then went to fetch Jean.

Jean swept into the room mere minutes later, looking sexy and elegant in a dress the color of Charles' lips.

Jean smiled, picking up on the thought. “So you can be tempted by a human.”

Erik offered a wry smile. “So it appears.”

“Unfortunately it looks like the Summoning ties into Shaw's plans, though I don't know how. He made a couple of references to Erik's 'pet' playing right into his hands. Not sure how world peace benefits a war god. And he was talking to a lot of people last night, talking big, and some of them seemed sympathetic. Aphrodite. Ra. Loki. Set. Maybe others.”

Erik sighed. “Victor and Loki are no surprise. Ra, he's an arrogant son of a bitch, so all Shaw needs to do is appeal to his ego. And Emma's probably just trying to figure out which way the wind is blowing to make sure she doesn't get dirt on her pretty white dress.”

“There's more,” Jean said. “He wants to be reinstated.”

Erik nodded. “He bragged about that to me. Thinks he has the votes this time.”

“He might,” Jean conceded. “His views are pretty popular right now. 'Bring back the old ways' and all that horseshit.”

“Our time has passed. We're relics of another age.”

Jean reached out, caressed his cheek. “Just be careful around Shaw. He'll take any chance he can to take you down.”

“I know, and I'll be careful. So tell Logan he'd better not even think about re-sellimg my bottle of scotch.”

Jean chuckled. “Take care of yourself, Erik. We're immortal, not invincible.”

He nodded. “I'll do my best.”

“Just hope that's enough.”

**~xXx~**

The painkillers had taken the edge off, enough for him to function, so he dragged himself into his chair. Erik had left the bedroom to speak with Jean, Logan's stunning immortal girlfriend, but clearly he hadn't gone far.

He was near the bathroom threshold when Raven returned. She followed him in, hopped up onto the counter, and regarded him carefully. “Are you sure about this guy? How much do you really know about him?”

“Enough,” Charles said irritably. “And can't you give me a little privacy?”

Raven folded her arms across her chest and smiled, deadly-sweet and stubborn. “It's not like you're going to do anything I haven't helped you do.”

“That's not the point.” But it conjured images of the night before, of Erik helping her tend to him. It still amazed him that Erik had done that, and moreover, hadn't been repulsed by the harsh realities of his life.

“No, it's not,” Raven agreed. “We were talking about Erik. And I just want to know why you're so sure you can trust him.”

“And I'd like to know why you're so sure I can't. And why you feel the need to have this conversation when I'm about to take a piss.”

“Because this is the first time I've managed to get you alone since he showed up.”

Point to Raven, but still. “Is it that you think he'll take advantage of me? I'm rich and I'm crippled, so I must be an easy target.”

Raven snorted. “Please. You're no easy target. But that doesn't mean people won't try to take advantage.”

Charles sighed. Raven clearly wasn't going to give him any privacy, nor was she going to let up on Erik. He stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it in the hamper, then he began wriggling out of his boxers.

“Just be careful,” Raven said, her tone making it clear that while she was letting the matter lie for now, she was by no means done.

“I'm always careful.” He got his boxers off, added them to the hamper, then set about the business of catheterizing himself.

“Well, if you're not, don't name it after me.”

All the air fled Charles' lungs, replaced by icy daggers, but he fought to mask his reaction. Raven didn't know, couldn't know.

He finally managed to squawk her name indignantly, as if he was in on her teasing, deliberately leading her away from that too-painful secret.

She drew up one leg and wrapped her arms around it, resting her chin on her knee, gazing at him unrepentantly.

He turned his face away, hiding the tears dampening his eyes. “Have you heard about that part yet?” If he couldn't get rid of her, maybe he could distract her.

Good choice. “I got a call from my agent,” she bubbled. “I'm on the short list, and they want me to do a chemistry read with the male lead.”

“Fantastic.” And be meant it. She'd back-burnered her career when he'd been injured, and he was thrilled to see her back on track. “Have you told Hank yet?”

“Hank and I broke up more than a month ago, just before you took tbe leave of absence.”

Charles gaped at her. “I really am an oblivious idiot, aren't I?”

“You said it, not me.”

“But why? I thought the two of you really loved each other.”

“We do -- we did -- it's just complicated.”

He wheeled over and took her hand. “I'm sorry, Raven. I liked Hank. But you'll find someone else. I know you will.”

To his surprise, she positively beamed. “I think I already have. Her name's Irene, she's a precog, and you're going to love her.” And Raven was off, describing Irene with rapturous delight.

Ah, the first blush of love, so joyous and sweet.

And then there was him and Erik, with whatever was growing between them despite all the shit in the way, starting with the Summoning and his wish. It wasn't likely to end well.

With a soft sigh and with Raven's happy burblings in his ears, Charles turned the shower on.

**~xXx~**

Raven chatted with Charles throughout his shower and while he got dressed. A part of her still wanted to weep at how difficult and time-consuming the process was, but Charles had made his peace with it, so so would she.

What she couldn't make her peace with was the Summoning, but Charles couldn't know she knew, so Erik would get the full measure of her rage.

Charles had pulled on a tank top and shorts, saying he was going to the weight room, hoping the endorphins would offset the lingering effects of the hangover.

And the weight room was directly below the bedroom where Erik and Jean were conversing. She watched her brother wheel to the elevator, then stationed herself in the hallway, waiting for Erik and Jean.

Jean emerged first. Good. “Can you find your own way out? I need to talk to Erik.”

Jean's eyes narrowed. “Be careful.”

Raven smiled, a little wickedly. “I don't intend to hurt him. Except his ears. Those I intend to blister.” 

Jean smiled. “Take care of yourself, sister.”

“Always. Give my best to the Coyote.”

Jean nodded, and the two of them embraced.

As Jean walked down the hallway toward the stairs, Raven stalked into the bedroom where Erik was.

He sat in an armchair, waiting, utterly relaxed. Bastard. “Why the hell didn't you tell me?”

Erik frowned, looking puzzled. “About what?”

“The real reason you're here.”

“Which you think is?”

“The fucking Summoning.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes. That.” Raven took a deep breath. “So why the hell did you just let me think you were having some meaningless fling with my brother?”

“Believe it or not, I was actually trying to protect him. The fewer of us that know someone actually managed to re-create one of the old Summoning rituals, the safer it is for him. Not all of our kind would react well to that news.”

Masterpiece of understatement. “I'm still his sister.”

“Doesn't mean I knew I could trust you. And given that you hadn't figured out what he was up to, I figured you were either oblivious or clueless or both.”

“I'm a trickster, not an idiot,” she snapped, a little guilty, because she _hadn't_ figured it out. “I knew he'd been wrapped up with those moldy old books of his, but I never saw him with anything suspicious, certainly nothing that suggested he was researching Summonings. A few volumes of comparative mythology. A few antique medical texts. Nothing that unusual, at least not that he let me see.”

“Clearly he didn't let you see everything.”

“So what did he ask for.”

“World peace.”

“Fuck me up the ass with a pinecone. Charles, you really are an idiot.”

“No, he's a true believer, which is worse.”

“After what he's been through, I'm not surprised, though I'd still like to shake some sense into him.”

“As would I. And I know that he's still hiding something, that there's more to what happened in Syria, and I think it's behind his wish.”

That surprised her. She'd always believed Charles kept no secrets from her. “Are you sure?”

“No, but there's this look he gets whenever I ask him, it's like there's something he's shying away from, something he can't bear to think about, let alone talk about.”

Raven knew that look, though she hadn't seen it in a long time. Charles had worn that look for months after Syria, unable to talk about any of it. She'd thought he'd worked his way through it, but maybe that had been wishful thinking. Or what he'd wanted her to think. “So he wants world peace. Are you going to give it to him?'

“I may have to. It's not like there are many good options.”

“That's gonna suck. You of all people know what happens when there's no war.”

“Tyrants, overlords, despots,” Erik acknowledged, “slavery, prison camps, genocides, all of that.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“And it gets worse.”

“How?”

“Sebastian Shaw.”

“What's that asshole got to do with this?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe everything. He's trying to get himself reinstated, and maybe he has the votes this time, and Jean hearfd him saying my 'pet' was playing right into his hands.”

Raven let loose a torrent of curses in their ancient tongue, finished with a snarled, “The bastard is mine!”

“Not if I get to him first,” Erik said dryly.

Raven started to argue, but Erik glared her to silence. She glared back, fuming.

“We need to be smart about this, Raven.”

“He's _using_ my baby brother.”

“To get to me, I know.”

“We've got to do something.”

“And we will. When we know what he's planning.”

“But--”

Erik had clearly reached tbe end of his patience. “Enough, Raven. We will deal with this, but we will deal with this _later_. He rose, turned toward the door. “Do you know where Charles is?”

“Weight room. Directly below us.”

Erik didn't bother with the door, just translated himself through the floor.


	6. Still More Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See chapter title...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be part of chapter 5 but somehow didn't post...

Erik appeared near the door of the weight room and surveyed the scene. Charles lay on one of the padded benches, barbell over his head, and he didn't look up, focused on his task.

He wore only a tank top and shorts, all the better to see his rippling muscles. He wasn't musclebound, but his lithe muscles were well-defined. Broad shoulders. Solid pecs. And those amazingly strong arms. His dark hair was tousled and damp with sweat, his skin glistened, and those cherry lips were drawn tight with concentration. Beautiful.

All of him was beautiful. Erik understood that now. Even if the outside world couldn't see past the scars, past the unmoving legs, past the wheelchair, couldn't see the fierce, passionate, generous man who wanted to save the world.

Even if, in saving it, he might destroy it.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare? Or are you going to get your arse over here? I want to add some weight, and it would be nice to have a spotter for a change.” Charles set the barbell on its stand, then he pushed himself to a sitting position.

“How much weight did you want to add?:

“I can do it “ Charles said irritably.

“As can I,” Erik replied evenly. “You've got a god at your disposal. Let me make myself useful.”

Charles considered for a moment, then he nodded. “Ten on each end.”

Erik used his powers to add the weights and secure them, then he took a seat on one of the other benches.

“Aren't you going to spot me?”

“I can catch it just as easily from here.” He lifted the bar about six inches, returned it to rest so gently it didn't even clink against the stand.

Charles nodded thoughtfully then lowered himself onto his back again.

The new weight was clearly more of a challenge, and Erik watched the play of Charles' muscles with keen interest. The smooth motions of his shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest, the tense straining of his upper arms, the iron strength of hand and wrist.

Charles was sheened with sweat now, glistening droplets trickling down his arms, dampening his hair, pooling in the hollow of his throat. He counted off his last set of reps and dropped the barbell onto its stand with a clang. He lay motionless for a minute, then again pushed himself to a sitting position, this time tugging at his legs until his feet rested on the floor. He looked both tired and exhilarated.

“Good workout?”

“Yes.” Charles studied Erik for a moment. “I don't suppose a god has to work out.”

“Not as such, no, but even a god can benefit from discipline and focus.”

Charles leaned forward to snag a large water bottle sitting on his chair, using one hand on the chair's arm to brace himself and then to help him return to upright. As he straightened back up, he noticed Erik's intent gaze and gleaned the curiosity behind it. “Most of my abdominals don't work, so it's easier to stay balanced if I have something to hang onto.” He paused to chug some water. “But I'm actually pretty fortunate. Given the level and severity of my injury, I shouldn't have any feeling or movement much below mid-chest.”

Raven. Her powers had done more than she was giving them credit for.

Charles drank more water, some of it trickling down onto the sides of his face and down his throat. He looked – edible.

Charles was just screwing the cap back onto the bottle when Erik rose and stalked toward him.

“Erik?”

Erik buried his hands in Charles' damp unruly hair, tilted his head up, then smothered those lush red lips.

Charles' hands went to Erik's waist, clutched at the thin fabric of Erik's t-shirt. Erik could feel the coiled strength in those hands, the underlying tenderness.

Erik sank onto the bench beside Charles, never ceasing his assault on the man's mouth.

Not that Charles was pushing him away. That lascivious tongue had plunged deep into Erik's mouth to twine with his own.

Charles' left arm encircled Erik's waist, while his right hand dragged across Erik's crotch, those strong fingers using just the right pressure on Erik's cock. _Oh, fuck, Charles, don't stop._

Charles never broke the kiss as he kneaded Erik's dick.

Erik felt like his dick was about to be strangled by unyielding denim. He used his powers to open his fly.

 _That's cheating,_ Charles protested.

Erik's response was to slide a hand inside Charles' tank top and rake a fingernail across Charles' right nipple.

 _So's that._ Even Charles' mental voice sounded breathless.

Erik chuckled, rumbling low in his throat.

_And that._

_How about we take this someplace more comfortable, like your bed._

_I thought you'd never ask._

Erik used his powers to translate them upstairs, and they materialized on the bed in the same position they'd been in on the weight bench, with Charles wheelchair appearing beside the bed moments later.

_He can be taught._

Erik broke the kiss, pretending to look affronted.

Charles laughed. “Get back here.”

Erik shook his head. “I have other plans.” He rose and shucked his t-shirt and jeans.

“I like this plan already.”

“You need to get naked, too.”

“Better and better.” Charles pulled his tank top off, revealing all that lovely fair skin and musculature. Then he began the process of taking off his shorts.

“May I?” Erik asked with an explanatory wave of a hand. “Strictly in the interest of getting you back in my arms as quickly as possible.”

Charles hesitated only briefly. “Do it.”

Erik waved his hand and Charles' shorts vanished.

“Nice.”

Erik settled next to Charles again and took him in his arms. “Where were we?”

“Right about here.” Charles slipped a hand behind Erik's head and pulled him down for a slow, deep kiss.

When they finally parted again, Erik cupped Charles' chin in his hand and said, “Teach me what works for you.”

“Pardon?”

“Teach me how to make it good for you. I know you can ride along with what I feel, but I imagine it's not the same as when it's your own body responding. It's not, is it?”

Charles shook his head slowly. 

'So teach me what to do.”

“All right.” He thought a moment. “Let's lie down.”

Erik nodded and rose, giving Charles enough space to lift his legs onto the bed and get settled, then Erik climbed in beside him.

Charles chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then he began. “My upper body has essentially become a giant erogenous zone. Some places you might expect, like my nipples and my ears but others you might not, like my inner wrist or my fingertips. Don't expect me to get hard; I seldom do. And don't expect me to ejaculate.'

“You did last time,” Erik said,

“Yes, but it's rare, so don't expect it.”

“Got it “

“And I can feel very little past here,” Charles traced a line almost a handswidth above his navel, “and what I can feel is mostly only pressure except for a couple of small patches on my thighs that are a little more sensitive. I tend to be vocal, so if I get quiet, I probably can't feel what you're doing.”

“Okay.” Erik pulled Charles close, kissed him just below the ear, was rewarded with a soft gasp. Encouraged, he trailed kisses down the side of Charles' neck, then nipped at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Charles shuddered and groaned softly.

Erik leaned up and blew in Charles' ear, sucked on the lobe, then nibbled along the column of Charles' throat and licked the hollow at the base. Charles' skin was salty from sweat, earthy from musk, and just a little sweet.

His fingers found spots along Charles' ribs and on his upper arms that caused Charles to keen softly and arch and writhe when stroked.

He'd deliberately steered clear of Charles' nipples, but now he attacked them with abandon. He took one into his mouth, sucking and nipping and licking at it, while he scraped a nail across its twin, then pinched and rolled it between his fingers.

Charles was moaning continuously now, his breaths rapid, his pupils blown wide. He was on the verge, needing just a nudge over the brink. Erik returned his attention to Charles' ear, sweeping his tongue along the curve, nipping at the shell, sucking on the lobe, while his fingers teased Charles' nipples into hard peaks.

He kissed Charles, hot and wet and filthy, his tongue exploring the contours of his mouth, sliding slickly along roof and teeth and lips and duelling with Charles' tongue. Then he pinched Charles' nipples, hard and without warning.

Charles gasped and his eyes went wide. His back arched, and he went stiff for a long moment before his body melted back against the pillows.

Erik smiled down at him, taking joy in his bed partner's satisfaction.

Charles stared up at him, his eyes darkened to midnight, a dazed smile on those crimson lips. “You ought to come with a warning label.”

“So you enjoyed it.”

“Like a kid at Christmas.”

“Wrong religion,” Erik teased, and he lay back against his own pillows, content as a cat who'd just finished a saucer of cream.

“But what about you,” Charles asked.

“I'm good,” Erik insisted. Yes, he was still hard, almost painfully so, but this had been about Charles.

“Don't be ridiculous. Sit up against the headboard and I'll take care of you.”

“If you insist,” Erik said, smiling.

“I do. And I've been told I have a very talented tongue.”

He did, but Erik wasn't going to feed his ego. “Who told you that?”

“I don't kiss and tell. Or blow and tell.”

Erik chuckled and moved up into position.

“Let me get between your legs.”

Erik folded his left leg up and waited as Charles rolled over and pulling himself into position, dragging the dead weight of his lower body. “Do all gods have cocks as big as yours?” he asked once his body was ensconced between Erik's long legs.

“Some of the fertility gods have much bigger ones. Kokopelli's is said to have reached the ground.” 

Charles' bright blue eyes went wide.

Erik chuckled. Logan had actually been Kokopelli, and while he was generously endowed, it didn't reach the ground.

“Still, it's a good thing I can suppress my gag reflex.” And with that, Charles went down on him, all but swallowing him whole. Erik's cock was enveloped in soft wet heat, and it responded enthusiastically, growing beavier, harder, aching, pulsating with need.

Charles was at turns gentle and rough, sucking softly at the head, licking the shaft like an ice cream cone, tonguing the slit, then clamping down hard with his lips or dragging his teeth along the shaft. It was glorious.

Charles' hand cradled Erik's balls, rolling the heavy sac between his fingers then brushing his thumb, feather-light, over its surface.

Charles' soft dark hair tickled Erik's belly and along his pelvis, and those strong arms hooked over his thighs, holding him in place. That filthy mouth and tongue continued their assault until he was sure Charles had sucked his brains down into his cock.

He was panting and making soft sounds of raw need -- not whimpers, gods didn't whimper. Surely this couldn't continue.

 _Oh, it could. But it won't._ Charles chuckled, and the added low vibration wrung Erik's orgasm from his body. He shot hot come down Charles' throat until he was sure Charles would choke, but the talented little shit swallowed it all.

Erik slumped back against the headboard, spent, sated, content.

Charles pillowed his head on Erik's thigh. “You're welcome.”

Erik closed his eyes. There was a shit-storm brewing, but at least for a little while he could forget, could drift in this post-coital bliss, could savor the feel of Charles' warm body nestled between his legs.

For a little while.


	7. Plots, sorrow, tenderness, anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning 1: Shaw uses offensive, ableist language in the first section.
> 
> Warning 2: Second section contains graphic descriptions of the Holocaust. To avoid this, read to the first set of three asterisks ( * * * ) then skip to the next set.

Emma swept a contemptuous glance over the penthouse suite of the Sun King Casino, Las Vegas. It was replete with gilding, mirrors, marble statuary, crystal chandeliers, rococo and baroque furniture and gaudy floral pieces. It was supposed to resemble the Palace of Versailles. Emma, who had spent several years at the court of Louis XIV - ah, the intrigue - begged to differ.

It was just the sort of place Shaw liked. Unlike Emma, he'd always been fond of Vegas. Subtlety wasn't part of his vocabulary. As he monologued away, Emma looked round the table.

Victor, formerly Set, Egyptian god of the desert, storms, violence and disorder. He was a hulking figure, more beast than man. He was in on this due to his antipathy towards his brother, Logan. He couldn't care less about Shaw or Erik, but Erik was Logan's friend, plus he liked trouble.

Ra, a sun god, another Egyptian deity. He called himself Apocalypse because the sun would eventually engulf the earth and consume it in a fiery embrace. Emma considered this rather pretentious, since they'd all be long gone by then - no humans, equaled no gods. He and Shaw had been close for millennia. He was in human form - and a very handsome form it was too - rather than his blue manifestation, which Emma thought resembled a giant, bad-tempered Smurf.

Azazel and Janos. They came as a pair and she always thought of them that way. They'd been Shaw's sidekicks forever. They were rumoured to be lovers. She knew the truth (or otherwise) of those rumours, but she wasn't telling. Azazel looked like a cartoon devil; red skin, black hair and goatee, pointy tail and all. He had been the messenger of the Titans, the ancient powers who came before the gods, and had taken Quicksilver's usurpation of his role pretty badly. Janos was god of the winds. He looked like a male model. A silent, sulky, superior male model. As per usual he was immaculately dressed. He was the only person she knew whose hair was better than hers.

Last, but not least, Loki, Norse trickster god. He was dressed all in black, sharp black suit and black silk shirt, open at the neck. It contrasted beautifully with his pale skin. His unruly back curls were swept back. His eyes gleamed like emeralds. No, not emeralds. Malachite? Jade? Ah, she had it. Like that narrow band of mysterious, tenebrous green that appeared low in the sky at sunset.

Why thank you, darling.

You're welcome, sugar.

He really does love the sound of his own voice, doesn't he? You know, I've always found him rather tedious. I could never understand why you were his lover for so many centuries.

It amused me to make a slave of the god of war. Plus he had great stamina in bed. Not very inventive, but I was inventive enough for two. Hell, I'm inventive enough for two hundred.

More like two thousand.

They exchanged smiles.

"Helping the cripple to perform the Summoning was my master stroke. Without the rare volume I, or rather my agents, helped him to track down, he'd never have been able to recreate the ceremony," said Shaw.

Victor, Apocalypse, Azazel and Janos looked blank. Janos always looked blank. Loki sniggered. Emma rolled her eyes.

"Granting Xavier's request will weaken Erik," she said. "Granting world peace is some heavy-duty magic, even for a god as powerful as Erik. He'll be temporarily vulnerable."

"And I'll request that the Council reinstates me just before the full moon. Restorative magic works best when the moon is waxing. Erik will be weakened by the loss of his war god status just before he's further weakened by having to grant his pet's wish."

"And then we strike," said Victor, nails lengthening into claws, teeth pointing into fangs.

Talk about stating the bleeding obvious, projected Loki.

"My mutation allows me to absorb energy, so I'll soak up whatever he throws at us and reflect it back at him," said Shaw.

"Even as a human your powers are mighty," said Apocalypse.

Shaw looked smug.

Suck up, sent Loki.

Ass kisser, agreed Emma.

"I shall smite him with the power of the sun," added Apocalypse.

"Janos will hit him with hurricanes and tornados and Azazel will put his speed and blades to good use," said Shaw.

Janos bowed his head the merest fraction of an inch in token of assent.

"Da," grunted Azazel. For some inscrutable reason he'd started speaking solely in Russian.

"I'll suck the life force clean out of him," said Victor.

"I'll hang around and watch," said Loki.

The others stared at him, Emma with a tiny smirk on her face.

"I mean, I'll confuse his mind and bewilder his senses," Loki amended.

"And I'll do what I do best," said Emma. "I'll get into his head."

"Let us make the blood oath," thundered Shaw.

Seriously? How terribly old fashioned, projected Loki.

Couldn't we just sign a contract or something? thought Emma.

Shaw produced a dagger inscribed "Blut und Ehre".

How tiresomely jejune, sighed Emma.

I never liked the Nazis, no sense of humour. Lovely uniforms though.

Loki sent her an image of him in a SS colonel's uniform.

Emma responded with a vision of herself with long, blonde plaits, in a dirndl and hausfrau apron. She made herself barefoot and pregnant for good measure. Loki choked on his vodka martini.

They all slit their palms. Shaw's blood was the usual human red. Janos' looked quite ordinary too. Victor and Azazel had black blood. Apocalypse's glowed like sunlight. Loki's was blue-green, with a silvery sheen. Emma's was perfectly clear and sparkled and fizzed like the finest champagne.

Cristal?

Emma made a moue of distaste. Veuve Clicquot, sugar.

They clasped hands and after a bit of mutual congratulation the others translated away, leaving her and Loki. Emma incinerated the blood on her palm. Heaven - hah - knows where the others had been.

They looked at each other appraisingly.

"So, why are you part of this?" asked Emma.

"It's in my nature. This is going to be the biggest shit-storm since World War II, how could I resist? What about you? Sweet memories of Shaw?"

Emma laughed out loud, raucous and dirty.

"Lord no, honey. I'm the goddess of love and lust. Love and lust are capricious things. I'm a capricious goddess."

"Hmm. Better keep my eye on you then."

"Oh, you should always keep your eye on me, little Loki."

He looked her up and down, taking in her perfect figure and flawless face.

"It's no hardship keeping an eye on you, incomparable Emma. After that thoroughly tedious meeting, what about a bit of fun?"

She smiled, slow and filthy.

"What did you have in mind?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm thinking."

She rose to her feet, a vision in white Prada and gold, stiletto, winged, Sophia Webster sandals.

"Would you prefer to fuck or be fucked?"

"Oh, darling, I'd prefer to be fucked. No one reams me out like you do."

She grinned.

"Not even your brother?"

He laughed and shook his head.

"Thor's too gentle, unless I get him really riled up."

She let the flesh between her legs lengthen and harden into a thick, ten inch prick. Twelve inches would be too obvious.

They fucked in the heart of a giant cumulonimbus cloud, towering above the desert. Everyone in Vegas fucked that night; the chambermaid and the hotel porter, the high roller and the down-on-his-luck loser, the Mafia boss and the manicurist. Some of them even made love.

It thundered. It lightninged. But no rain fell to the parched earth.

* * *

Ten days. It had been ten days and Charles remained obdurate. They'd argued, fucked (though the fucking was edging perilously close to love-making), played chess (Charles had actually won a few games), wandered the gardens, gone down to the beach (Erik skimming Charles' chair across the sand), watched reality TV (something Erik had previously avoided, with good reason he now realised), argued some more and fucked some more.

Charles needed a more concrete argument for the necessity of war. Erik hated to do it to him and to himself, but he knew exactly where to take him.

"I'd like to take you somewhere."

They were clearing up after dinner. Erik had cooked. Charles perked up.

"Will I like it?"

"No, Charles, you won't."

Charles' bright face darkened as he picked up on the seriousness of Erik's tone and mind.

"I think it's important that you go," said Erik.

"OK," said Charles, dead serious now.

Erik translated them away.

It was dark. There were a few electric lights. You could see the shapes of buildings and the gleam of railroad tracks. Erik raised his hand and a soft light illuminated their surroundings. The buildings resolved into brick barracks surrounded by barbed wire fences. In front of them was a metal gateway, with the words "Arbeit Macht Frei" over the arch.

Charles gasped.

"Where . . . where are we?"

"Auschwitz."

Charles eyes, huge in the eldritch light, turned to Erik.

"I chose to come here to witness what happened and to remind myself why wars must be fought. There were so many people, so many. Poles who resisted the Nazis. Romani and Sinti. Soviet prisoners of war. Homosexuals. And, of course, Jewish people, thousands upon thousands of Jewish people. I focused on one family, Edie and Jakob Lehnsherr, and their son, Erik."

He paused to gather himself.

"They arrived by train, in a cattle car. They were exhausted and hungry and thirsty and filthy and terrified. It was bedlam when they were unloaded. Soldiers shouting and lashing out. Dogs barking and being set upon people who were too slow. They were sorted into two long lines. Jakob and the younger, stronger men in one line. Edie and Erik with the other women and children, the old people and anyone who looked sickly. Most of the second line were marched away, including Erik. Edie tried to hang onto him, but a guard struck her across the face and tore him from her arms. He screamed:

"Mama! Mama!"

"Alles ist gut," she called after him, "Alles is gut!"

She and Jakob never saw him again. They never stopped looking. They didn't know that he was gassed and incinerated that first day, along with hundreds of others. 

Edie was marched into a big building with the remaining women. They were registered and a serial number was tattooed on their left forearms. Edie was horrified; Jews were forbidden to have tattoos. They were forced to strip. I'll never forget the shame she felt at being seen naked by any man other than Jakob. The guards laughed and joked and made dirty comments about their bodies. They were shaved of all their body hair, doused in disinfectant, forced through freezing cold showers and given a smock dress and wooden clogs. Edie's smock had a yellow star on. They were marched to their crowded, filthy barrack block.

Edie didn't sleep at all that night. All she could think of was Erik and Jakob. It was so crowded the women were lying on top of each other. It was cold. They were woken when it was still dark for a roll call that lasted hours. Edie was right in the front row. On the other side of a tall, barbed wire fence, she could see the mens' roll call. About three rows back she could see Jakob. Her heart leapt. She fixed her eyes on him and willed him to look at her. After what seemed an eternity he looked up. Their eyes met. Tears streamed down her face. Her Jakob, who she had never seen cry, wept like a baby. They stared at each other all through roll call.

After roll call they were given some kind of herbal tea, then marched off for twelve hours of hard labour on a construction site. The only break they got was for a lunch of soup that was more water than food. As they marched back, every muscle in Edie's body ached. There was a lot of milling around when they got to the camp. In the confusion, Edie caught sight of Jakob. She darted towards the fence. He saw her and headed her way.

"Erik?" she called.

"No," he answered, shaking his head and looking desperate.

The prisoners were starting to get organised into lines for roll call.

"Same time, same place," she yelled and dashed off.

After evening roll call, which took hours, they had black bread and a tiny piece of cheese. As she lay on her cold, hard bunk, half underneath a couple of other women, all she could think of was having seen Jakob. She prayed for him and for Erik. Perhaps there was a children's camp?

The next day was a repeat of the previous one. Before evening roll call she sidled up to the fence. Yes, there he was, her Jakob.

"Perhaps Erik's in the children's camp?" she said.

Jakob looked a bit more hopeful. "Yes, perhaps."

"I love you," she called.

He smiled his lovely smile. "I love you too, my little dove."

Then they had to separate for roll call.

This was their routine.

They never spoke of the way hunger gnawed like a rat in their guts. They never spoke of watching people torn apart by dogs or stamped into a bloody pulp. They never spoke of liquid shit running down their legs. They never spoke of having to hold up the corpse of a fellow inmate for hour upon hour during roll call. They never spoke of how skeletal the other was growing, cheeks hollowing, eye sockets deepening and every bone standing out.

They spoke of Erik. He was a strong, healthy, clever boy. He'd work hard and keep his head down. He'd be alright. Jakob told her he'd seen a swallow, swooping low over the camp. She told him she'd seen a patch of buttercups beyond the wire. He told her a tortoiseshell butterfly had landed on his yellow star, no doubt mistaking it for a flower. She said she'd seen a cloud that looked just like her Aunt Ruth, the aunt with the big nose.

Then one day he didn't come. He didn't come the next day, or the next. He never came again. Edie never knew he'd accidentally met the eye of a guard and been beaten to death for insolence. She kept coming, kept hoping, kept praying for her Erik and her Jakob.

One morning she could hardly stand during roll call. The guards separated her and some other weak and sickly women from the rest. They took them to a long, low building, next to a building with a lot of chimneys. There were some men there too, most of them looked unwell. They were told to strip and that they were going to have a shower. They shuffled into a great big room and the door clanged shut behind them. It was crowded. Edie began to feel a sense of unease. It seem to spread through the densely packed crowd. Then there was a bitter scent in her nostrils and a bitter taste in her mouth and it hurt to breathe. Someone started shouting:

"Gas! Gas! Gas!"

People started screaming and shouting and banging on the door and clawing at the walls and ceiling. Edie thought of Erik and Jakob. She concentrated on her love for them as hard as she could. She started choking. She foamed at the mouth and bled from her ears. She lost consciousness. Her heart stopped. It took fifteen minutes and forty nine seconds for Edie Lehnsherr to die."

Erik let his light fade. There was only the cold glow of the few electric lights. It wasn't enough.

Silence.

Darkness.

Patches of light.

A chill wind.

How long they stood and sat there, Erik didn't know.

"You . . . you took his name."

Charles' voice shook. Erik turned to him. In the dim light he could see the tear tracks gleaming on his cheeks.

"Yes, I took the name 'Erik" to honour them and to remind myself that some wars are just."

Another long silence.

"Couldn't you have done something?"

"It was forbidden. That's why I hate Shaw so much. He interfered with humanity, but to make things worse, to turn them into more efficient killing machines. If ever I was in the same situation again, I don't think I'd be able to stop myself intervening, whatever the consequences."

More silence.

"Take me home, Erik, please take me home."

Erik translated them away.

The lights flickered off and the darkness was complete.

* * *

They reappeared in the study. The change from darkest night to a sunlit evening gave Charles a sense of massive dislocation. The Lehnsherrs' tragedy and Erik's emotions had left him shaken. He could shield himself from a human's feelings, but not from god's. Erik had experienced the family's suffering as if it were his own. He'd broadcast it to Charles; love, fear, pain, terror, agony, love. Charles couldn't think, he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe.

"Get me out of here, Erik, out of the house, outside, outdoors, please."

Suddenly they were on the beach. Erik knelt by the side of the wheelchair and wrapped his arms round Charles.

"Breathe, Charles, breathe. In, out, in, out, in, out."

Charles followed the rhythm Erik set. After about twenty minutes he felt a little better. He looked along the beach, at the rippled sand. He looked back at the cliffs, towering above them, multi coloured bands of rock twisted into sweeping curves. He looked out to sea, at the changing colours of the waves, crashing on the shore in plumes of white. He listened to the ocean's ever-changing, never-changing voice.

His resolution was shaken, yet . . .

The aftermath of World War I, the Treaty of Versailles, the War Guilt clause, reparations, the weakness of the Weimar Republic, the near-collapse of the German economy - all these paved the way for the rise of the Nazis. Without WWI, who knew what course history might have taken?

He must have projected his thoughts because he felt a wave of defeat from Erik. The god slumped onto the sand beside the wheelchair. Charles wound his fingers into Erik's hair, which was curling slightly in the damp, sea air. He gently scratched his nails across Erik's scalp. Erik sighed and leant against the wheelchair and pushed into Charles' hand.

They sat as the sun dropped ever closer to the horizon, tainting the clouds and the waves with slate grey and bruise purple and dried-blood red. The gulls wheeled and cried. They sat as the sun disappeared and the light leached out of the sky. There were lights along the path down to the beach, but they hadn't switched them on, so it was dark among the dunes. The sea spoke endlessly, older than humanity, older than gods. A cool breeze hissed through the grasses.

Charles was so weary of fear and hatred and death. He craved life and love, a physical craving, desperate beyond words. Erik stood and bent over him. He lifted Charles from his chair and laid him on the still warm sand. He lay down at his side, half on top of him. Charles couldn't feel Erik's long, lean legs against his, but he could feel his muscled torso. He put one arm round Erik's narrow waist and the other round his broad shoulders. It was so dark he couldn't see anything but the faintest gleam of Erik's eyes. Erik put one hand to Charles' cheek. His other hand was pressed against Charles' chest, trapped between their bodies.

They kissed. A slow exploration of each other's mouths. Tongues tangled and swirled and curled. Charles sucked Erik's tongue like some delicious fruit. Erik licked Charles' face as though he were a dog. Erik kissed his way across to Charles' earlobe and licked some more and sucked too. Everything was gentle, no teeth, no nipping, no biting.

In the sea-loud dark, Erik unbuttoned Charles' shirt and his own and drew his hands across Charles' chest, brushing his nipples with cool fingertips. Charles gasped. He caught the merest glint of Erik's teeth as he smiled. Erik played with Charles nipples, squeezing, tugging, twisting, always gentle, always careful. Then he kissed them and pressed the flat of his tongue to them and flicked them with the tip. He suckled like a babe and Charles moaned and shifted like the sand.

Erik lavished attention on his collarbones and his ribs. He worshiped his throat with reverent fingers and a cunning tongue. He pressed his face into Charles' taut belly and oh so gently scraped him with his stubbled chin. It was so dark all these touches came as a surprise to Charles, a revelation of tenderness and affection.

Charles' arousal was building. He reached down and felt for Erik's cock. He was completely hard. Charles fumbled him out of his jeans - he was naked underneath the denim - spat in his hand and took hold of Erik's cock. Erik's breath hissed between his teeth. Charles stroked him languidly, taking his time, slow and sure, grip certain, but not tight. He felt a few hot drops of pre-come leak from Erik's slit. He rubbed his thumb over the head, spreading the blood-warm fluid over the glans. Erik shuddered. Charles worked Erik's cock a little harder and faster, but still tenderly, still lovingly. Erik latched his mouth onto Charles' earlobe and his fingers onto Charles' nipples.

Charles was so close and he could feel how near the edge Erik was. More sucking, more stroking and Erik was coming over Charles' fingers with a sigh and Charles was trembling and groaning through his own climax.

They lay entwined, Erik's face against Charles' neck, Charles' hand on Erik's soft cock. The salt smell of the sea mingled with the scent of sex. He felt a slight dampness on his neck. Erik was crying. He realised his own face was wet with tears. Then it hit him. He was in love with the god of war and wisdom. He was in love with Erik and there was no way that wouldn't end badly.

The emotions of the day and this sudden revelation unmoored his mind. His thoughts went reaching for comfort, for the familiar and well loved. Raven walked the midnight garden. She'd been with Irene in the city and had just returned. Charles meant to brush her mind - he respected his sister's right to privacy - but his control was shot and he went deeper than intended.

Hate having to lie to Irene, but she was freaked out enough when she saw me alive and well centuries in the future, how freaked out would she be if I told her I'm a goddess? Thank the gods she believed me when I said extremely slow ageing was my secondary mutation. Still worried about this Summoning. Worried about Charles and Erik. Good to see Jean again. Still think Brighid suits her better. Might go pay a visit to Logan's place, catch up with old Coyote.

Her thoughts stuttered to a halt.

Charles? Is that you? Oh, shit!

Charles withdrew.

Shock. Disbelief. Betrayal. Anger.

Erik sat up. "Charles," he began.

Charles cut him off.

"Take me to Raven, now!"

* * *

Raven stood stock still in the Italian garden. Outdoor lighting made glossy leaves gleam and cast delicate flower shadows on the pale pink marble loggia. The garden overflowed with the scents of the Mediterranean.

She'd never worried about Charles finding out what she was. She'd asked him to keep out of her mind when they were quite young - "no sister wants her brother in her head" - and he'd respected her boundaries. Plus, as a goddess, and a trickster at that, she was adept at shielding. And now, one slip, one fucking slip on her part and an accidental intrusion by Charles and he knew what she was.

Charles and Erik appeared on the terrace in front of her. Charles looked furious.

"When were you going to tell me, Raven? I mean, it's only been sixteen years. Or were you never going to tell me?"

Not a good start.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. When we were kids you were so happy to have found a another mutant I didn't want to disappoint you. Then, as the years passed, it got harder and harder to speak up, so in the end I didn't."

Charles gave her his finest "incredulity mixed with contempt" look.

"So you thought it best to lie to me all these years?"

"I didn't exactly lie to you."

He sneered. "No? What about the parents who abandoned you? What about having to scavenge on the streets? What about playing the part of a helpless little girl in need of love and protection?"

She swallowed. "OK, I wasn't entirely truthful. Look, it's in my nature, Charles. I'm a trickster. A lie comes more naturally to me than the truth. Deceit, deception, it's what I'm all about."

"Deceit and deception. That neatly sums up our relationship, doesn't it?"

She could feel her temper rising.

"Hey, I saved your life. Those burglars were going to bash your head in."

"But why did you save it? Am I your pet? That's what they called me in Logan's. Am I some sort of experiment? Is this an elaborate joke? Were you planning on pulling the rug out from under my feet anytime soon?"

"I liked you. I thought it would be fun to stick around for a while. The longer I stayed, the less I wanted to go. I came to love you, to feel like I really was your sister."

He wheeled himself to and fro on the marble flags, his equivalent of pacing. He turned those too blue eyes on her and said:

"And I came to love you, Raven. All those years spent worrying about you. Worrying that you might be rejected, insulted, maybe even attacked because of your appearance. Worrying about your love life, afraid you'd never find someone who'd love you for yourself, afraid you'd end up with some manipulative bastard who'd coerce you into being someone else."

He laughed again, harsh and bitter, and added:

"That really is hilarious, worrying about you being manipulated when all this time you've been manipulating me. You're a fucking goddess! More powerful than the strongest mutant, easily able to take care of yourself, thousands of years old, laughing at my ridiculous attempts to protect you."

"I've never laughed at you, Charles. I - "

He interrupted her.

"It feels like you were mocking me all along. God - hah, sorry, goddess - you know how much I hate lies and all the loathsome games people play, yet you've lied to me, you've played me for most of my life."

"Maybe I didn't tell you the truth, but I swear my divine nature is the only lie between us."

She walked towards him, hands held out. He wheeled backwards, scowling.

"Charles, I love you, you're my brother. Do you really think I've been acting a part for sixteen years? Don't you remember playing together? Falling in the fountain? Hide and seek? Climbing trees? Exploring the attics? Don't you remember all the fun we had and all the trouble we got into? Remember when Sharon was going to marry that Marko guy with the asshole son?"

He nodded, eyes full of suspicion.

"You said his mind was horrible, that he couldn't give a shit for Sharon, he hated us and all he cared about was her money. Remember how Sharon changed her mind? Had a fling with the pool-boy instead? That was me, Charles, that was me."

Charles had a lightbulb moment.

"That was you?" She nodded. "I remember wondering why she'd changed her mind. My telepathy was going through an unreliable patch - the joys of puberty - and I wasn't able to alter her intent or get her to believe me. It was you."

She knelt by the wheelchair and took his hands. He didn't try to move away.

"Remember after Syria? Remember how I wouldn't let you give up? How I bullied you and nagged you? How I turned on the waterworks? How I raged at you? I did more than that, Charles, I . . . I saved your life. You'd have died if I hadn't over-extended my powers. I'd have healed you if I could, but I'm not powerful enough."

His fingers tightened convulsively on hers. He looked confused and distraught. His voice shook when he spoke.

"I want to believe you, Raven, I really do, but I feel like everything's turned on its head. Is this just more lies, more trickery?"

She felt a flicker of anger. She'd been a good sister to him, hell, she'd been a great sister. He owed her his life. And he was willing to discount all that because of this one thing?

"I'm not the only one who's lied. I know there's something about Syria you haven't told me, I know it."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she'd made a massive mistake. Raven had heard of people turning pale with anger, but in all her thousands of years she'd never seen it. Until now. He dragged his hands out of her grasp and wheeled backwards. His rage crashed down on her in a great wave. Fuck, sometimes she forgot how powerful his telepathy was. Even for a goddess it was pretty fucking unsettling.

"How dare you! How fucking dare you! How dare you call me a liar when your whole life, your whole existence is a lie!"

He pivoted round her and started wheeling towards the house at top speed. She darted after him, trying to think what the hell to say. Erik lifted a hand and halted his chair. Oh fuck, now they really were in the shit.

"Charles, wait, listen to me, please, just listen. Raven threatened me because she thought I might harm you. She told me how much she cares for you, that she genuinely thinks of you as her brother. She told me about using every ounce of her power to save you. She loves you, Charles, you must believe her."

Raven knew for a fact Charles hadn't heard a word Erik had said. Erik had interfered with Charles' chair without permission. That flicked a switch in Charles' head.

"Let go of my chair," he said, voice dangerously calm and quiet.

"I'm trying to - "

"Let go of my fucking chair or I will do everything in my power to hurt you."

Charles locked eyes with Erik. Erik looked startled. Charles looked lethal. Holy shit, if she didn't do something her brother was going to telepathically attack the god of war.

Raven jabbed Erik in the ribs. He jumped about a foot in the air.

"Let go of his chair," she snarled.

Erik looked pissed, but released the wheelchair. Charles went hurtling off. Damn, he could move in that thing. Erik and Raven raced after him. He headed for the elevator and punched the down button. They caught up with him. He glared at them accusingly.

"You didn't tell me, Erik, you didn't tell me about her. For all I know you're both in this together, both trying to get me to change my mind about an end to war. I thought . . . I felt . . . oh, fuck you, Erik and fuck you even more, Raven. Fuck off, the both of you, just fuck off and leave me alone!"

"I can't," said Erik, "the bond's still in effect."

Charles screamed. He actually screamed.

"Fuck the bond, fuck world peace, fuck gods and goddesses, fuck lies and fuck this fucking elevator!"

At that precise moment the elevator bell pinged.

Charles rolled in. Erik got in next to him. Raven went to get in. Charles held up both hands and shook his head.

"No, Raven, no. I can't bear to look at you anymore. Please stay away from me, please just stay away."

He looked so sad.

The doors slid shut and the elevator whirred upwards.

Raven was an ancient and powerful goddess, so why did she feel like a lost little girl?


	8. A Little More Talking and a Lot More Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles talk and have sex. Irene comforts Raven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I went a little crazy during Remix Madness -- I.
> 
> Please feed the writers. We live for your comments.
> 
> For those not interested in a Raven/Irene sex scene, skip the second Raven/Irene scene...
> 
> And it still feels a little surreal that I managed to fall into a fandom that includes a blind woman named Irene...

Charles paused at the threshold of his bedroom, pivoted to face Erik. “Don't follow me in, unless you want to go hide in the bathroom. Go next door. Read a book. Take a nap. I don't care. I just need to not see you for a while.”

Erik looked like he itched to argue, but he ultimately complied with a sharp nod, disappearing into the adjoining bedroom.

Charles wheeled into his bedroom and headed straight for the closet. He pushed aside a row of shirts to reveal a boxlike case resting on the floor. He lifted it onto his lap and backed out of the closet.

He set the case on the table he used as a desk, his hands still shaking with rage. He'd loved Raven, taken her in, protected her -- and it had all been a lie. 

And then she'd had the nerve to make it about him, about Syria, about the secrets he still harbored about the worst hours and days of his life. Moments that he still couldn't bear to think about even now unless he'd consumed enough alcohol to anesthetize his heart.

And to that end. He opened the catch on the case and pushed the lid back, then he withdrew a bottle of scotch and a chipped tumbler from the silk-lined interior. He'd started keeping this stash after coming home from Syria, back when he'd wanted nothing more than to drown himself in grief and loss and absolutely obscene quantities of scotch.

Raven, of course, had yelled at him for drinking so much. She'd yelled at him about everything back then, alternately raging and sobbing, demanding and cajoling, ultimately bullying him into as much of a recovery as he was capable of making. But some wounds could never truly heal, just callus over enough to become bearable, at least after a fashion.

Charles filled his tumbler and gulped half of it. He closed his eyes, remembering Gabby's sweet face, the joy that had lit her from within, his own joy once he had known. The crushing despair when he'd learned the depth of his losses, his world ripped apart by the same bombs that had savaged his body.

He swallowed the rest of his drink, poured another. Raven would be pissed that he was drinking again. But fuck her! He wouldn't be drinking now if it wasn't for her. Lying bitch goddess!

He still had trouble wrapping his brain around it. The creature he'd called his little sister for sixteen years was a fucking goddess. A trickster, she'd said. A professional liar, he said. Had any of it even been real? And even if it was, how the hell could he ever forgive her? He drained the tumbler again and refilled it.

Memories came to him, unbidden, as he drank glass after glass. Raven dozing beside him in the grass on a lazy summer afternoon. Raven acting out one of their favorite movies, start to finish, morphing rapid-fire from role to role. Raven, worried and drawn, sitting vigil at his bedside when he'd emerged from the coma, when he'd first begun to grasp the magnitude of what he'd lost.

Okay, so she did love him. But she'd still betrayed him.

Charles swallowed the last of the scotch in his glass, then set the glass down with exaggerated care. He knew he was quite terribly drunk, yet his thoughts remained oddly clear, no doubt fueled by his anger at Raven. At Erik.

And what of Erik?

Erik. Who'd taken him to Auschwitz. Who'd bared his heart, bared his soul, revealed the depths of his anguish over the slaughter of innocents. Who'd taken a name that bore a silent witness to that horror, served as an eternal reminder of a single family among millions, a family whose quiet courage would otherwise be lost to history.

Erik, who'd then brought Charles home, back to the beach where they'd met, where they'd comforted each other, made gentle love, affirmed they were alive and life could be sweet.

Whatever reasons Erik had had for maintaining Raven's secret, they were probably good ones. Erik had proved himself worthy of Charles' trust. It was Charles who continually doubted him.

Erik had been patient, steadfast, and unfailingly kind, no matter how much of an asshole Charles had been, no matter how opposed he was to Charles' wish.

And that was why Charles had fallen in love with him. Dear gods -- hah -- he was in love with the god of wisdom and war.

Erik materialized in front of him. “You're projecting.” He touched Charles' temple, and Charles was instantly and disgustingly sober. “We need to talk.” Erik's eyes were like a stormy sea, all shifting hues of grey and blue and green, fierce and chaotic, changeable and compelling. His jaw was set, but a faint smile softened what would have been a forbidding countenance.

Charles met Erik's gaze. “So talk.”

**~xXx~**

Raven fled the beach estate with no plan in mind. She just knew she had to get away, to put some distance between her and Charles.

She had screwed up. Bad. A couple of careless slips, and now Charles hated her. Hank had warned her -- the subject of their last fight had been Hank's refusal to continue participating in her charade. But she had been so sure she had it all under control. She'd managed for sixteen years; another forty or fifty had seemed like nothing.

Not anymore.

Raven choked back a sob. She knew where she needed to be right now, never mind it was surely as bad an idea as staying in the beach house would have been. But tonight she just couldn't stand to be alone.

She focused and translated herself to Irene's doorstep. Her lover already stood in the doorway, waiting for her. “I knew you'd come,” she said as she opened her arms.

Raven threw herself into them and sobbed.

Eventually Irene brought Raven inside and settled her on the couch. She held Raven, stroked her hair, pressed kisses to her forehead and cheeks, and most importantly, let her cry.

Once Raven finally cried herself out, Irene retrieved a damp cloth and cleaned her face. “Talk when you feel ready.”

“How much of what happened did you see?” Raven asked quietly.

“Enough,” Irene answered.

“And you're still here? I didn't scare you off?”

Irene smiled softly, her white eyes luminous. “You're not the first of your kind I've met, but I granted you your deceptions. I knew you'd tell me when you were ready.”

“What did I do to deserve you? Especially now that I've fucked it up so badly with Charles.”

“You and Charles will find a way past this,” Irene declared, squeezing Raven's hands. “It won't be easy; he's really mad. But he truly does love you, and that should be enough. He's going to need you, almost as much as he needed you after Syria.”

“Because of Erik?”

“In a way.” Irene pulled Raven back into her warm embrace. Raven snuggled against her lover, letting her cradle her like a child. “But Erik is almost as much a pawn in this as your brother.”

“Pawn?” Raven didn't like the sound of that.

“Your brother was guided along the path to the Summoning ritual. The man who calls himself Shaw, he's planning his return to power, and Erik is both an obstacle and a means to an end. I can't see more than the outlines of his plan yet -- there are far too many permutations -- but it all bodes ill.” She kissed the top of Raven's head. “You play a pivotal role. You must begin assembling Erik's allies.”

“I don't know who to talk to,” Raven protested. “I'm a minor goddess. No one will listen to me.”

“Jean will. And Logan. Then I can help you identify the others. We'll begin tomorrow.” Irene caressed Raven's cheek then dropped her hand to cup her breast. “As for tonight, I foresee something much more life-affirming than plots and intrigues and revenge.”

Raven's smile was shaky but it was genuine. “Tell me more.”

**~xXx~**

Charles was drunk. And he was projecting his drunken ramblings. Bad enough when he was going off about Raven. Worse when his thoughts turned to Erik. And still worse when Charles realized he had fallen for Erik.

Erik wasn't terribly surprised. He'd watched for millennia as gods had dallied with mortals, and mortals had fallen under the spell of their immortal lovers' allure.

And it never ended well.

Some mortals chased the lure of immortality, failing to see the trap and the curse an endless existence truly was. They were sure that immortality meant an eternity with their love, not understanding that the only thing truly eternal was change.

Other mortals became jealous and possessive, not understanding their lives were but a moment in the span of a god's existence, that it was only natural for a god to look beyond that moment.

And still others went into deep denial, clinging on in desperation, even when they knew the relationship was doomed, miserable once they knew a relationship with a god was not what they thought it would be.

Erik didn't see Charles following any of those paths. Nonetheless, he had to put a stop to this.

He translated himself into the other bedroom. “You're projecting,” he said as he touched Charles' temple and purged the alcohol from his system. “We need to talk.”

Abruptly sober, Charles glared at Erik and snapped, “So talk.”

“You can't fall in love with me.”

“I think you're a little late,” Charles said dryly.

“You know what I mean. This, us, it can never work.”

Are you sure of that?”

“We come from different worlds. Mortal. Immortal. It doesn't work.”

“Never?”

Erik thought for a long minute. “There have been a few over the years,” he conceded.

“So we'd have a chance; if we wanted to fight for it.”

“You presume I want this fight,” Erik said coldly. “This relationship was a mistake born of circumstance.”

“Don't lie to me,” Charles said. “Whatever there is between us is more than just a casual attraction.”

Truer than Erik wanted to admit, and not because of just the Summoning. Charles had touched his heart, gotten under his skin, like no one else ever had, human or god. True, he was arrogant and stubborn, and dangerously wrong-headed, but he was also kind and compassionate and generous.

And he gave the most mind-blowing knock-your-socks-off blow jobs Erik had ever experienced.

But he was mortal, ephemeral, would be gone in just a handful of years. And the price for keeping Charles with him, even for those few precious years, would be high.

But he was actually starting to think about it.

Charles was studying him, eyebrow cocked, smiling softly. “You still haven't answered me.”

“I have not,” Erik agreed.

“So answer,” Charles demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

Erik sighed. “There is a chance, a small one, bur there are so many other factors, other obstacles, more than most other god/mortal pairs have faced.”

“The Summoning.”

“The Summoning. And Shaw. And all the shit that's about to hit the fan once I grant your wish.”

“You're sure it will be that bad.”

“I am. You're not, though I will keep trying.”

“I expect nothing less.” Charles closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, focusing intently on Erik. “Would it be worth it, even with all that?”

Erik massaged his brows with one hand. “I don't know. This goes against everything I thought I believed.”

“But are you willing to at least consider it?”

Erik gnawed his lip. He already was. “I'll think about it,” he finally said.

Charles' eyes lit like the noonday skies.

“That doesn't mean I believe there's a way forward for us,” Erik warned, though he was beginning to hope thete could be. “I'm only agreeing not to dismiss the possibility out of hand.”

“I can live with that,” Charles said. “Now come here and kiss me.”

**~xXx~**

Irene led the way to her bedroom, guided mostly by memory with just a touch of prescience. She could never entirely turn off her foresight; it gave her a headache to even try.

So even as she led her lover to her bed, possible futures spooled before her. Raven stood in the forefront of the storm, flanked by her brother and the god once known as Apollo.

She willed the visions to retreat, bringing forward the most immediate futures, the ones of Raven in her bed. She paused just inside the doorway and pulled Raven into her arms.

She was warm and soft and already naked, wearing only the scales that overlapped her skin. The scales were smooth, almost slippery to the touch, soft and flexible.

Irene kissed her, gentle and sweet, but with the underlying promise of passion.

She slipped off her simple blouse and skirt, stood before Raven in nothing but her undergarments, struck a pose with a gentle laugh, then shed bra and panties to stand naked before her love. “Lie down and let me look at you,” she commanded softly.

Once Raven had slid onto the bed, Irene climbed in beside her. Her hand skimmed over the gentle curves of Raven's belly, up between Raven's breasts, and over her throat, stopping when she reached the plush contours of Raven's lips. She traced them with a fingertip, then she kissed her, slipping her tongue past those plump lips to explore Raven's mouth.

Raven's arms circled her torso, pulled her tight against her. Irene reveled in the feel of those satiny-soft scales against her own skin from her shoulders to her feet. Raven's legs tangled with her own, held her as firmly as the arms around her upper body.

Her hands found Raven's hair, short and sleek and silky. Raven's fingers found the pins that secured her own hair in a neat twist at the back of her head and pulled them free. Her hair tumbled free in a heavy curtain to her shoulderblades. Raven's hands roamed down her back, cupped her ass, then one hand dipped between her legs.

Irene groaned softly as Raven slipped a finger inside her. “No fair,” she teased.

Raven laughed, a sound like the sparkling of champagne. “I'm a trickster. I never play fair.” With that declaration, her tongue found Irene's left nipple and laved it gently.

Irene arched into the contact.

Raven chuckled, then she took the nipple into her mouth, sucking it, hard then soft, hard then soft. She slipped two more fingers inside Irene and began finger-fucking her to the same rhythm.

“Really not fair,” Irene gasped.

Raven traced circles over Irene's clitoris with her thumb. Her mouth moved to her other nipple.

Irene no longer had words. She rode the building waves of ecstasy higher and higher, the possibilities of the next moments coalescing into a single reality that swept over her, a crescendo of sensation that left her gasping, every nerve singing, then receded, allowing her to drift back to earth.

Raven kissed her, tender and passionate.

It took a minute after the kiss ended for Irene to find her voice. “Still not fair.”

Raven laughed. “All's fair in love and war.”

Irene rolled on top of her lover. “My turn, then.”

She didn't play fair either, not that night.

**~xXx~**

Erik stared at Charles for long moments, taking in those heart-stopping blue eyes, that silky dark hair, those cherry-red lips.

“Kiss me,” Charles repeated.

Erik took Charles' head in his hands, tilted it back, and gave him a slow and thorough kiss. He still tasted of scotch, though it no longer coursed in his bloodstream.

When he finally pulled back, he stared deep into Charles' lapis eyes. “Let me love you, all of you.”

Charles nodded. “All right.”

Gently, reverently, he lifted Charles from his chair and carried him to the bed, sitting him down at the edge, carefully arranging his feet on the floor. He ran his hands through the heavy silk of Charles' hair, reveling in the amazing softness of it. It tumbled in loose waves nearly to his shoulders, rich and dark, shot through with russet and gold.

His thumbs traced the winged arcs of Charles' eyebrows then slid down his velvet-soft cheeks and through the bristly stubble on his jaw. He slid the pad of his index finger over those plush lips, then he sank to his knees.

He nibbled his way along Charles' jaw, sucked at his earlobe, felt Charles' breath quicken in response. He unbuttoned Charles' shirt one button at a time, parting the fabric more after each, kissing the pale flesh revealed, working his way down to Charles' navel. He knew Charles wouldn't have felt the last kiss, but Charles could see him, could watch him worship at this sacred temple.

He unbuttoned Charles' cuffs, kissed and nibbled the inner surfaces of Charles' wrists, pulled his shirttails free of his pants, and pushed the shirt down and off Charles' shoulders, letting it pool on the bed.

He took a minute to drink in the perfection of the mortal body before him. Some of his kind would surely argue “mortal” and “perfection” did not go together. Prior to meeting Charles, Erik had been among them. But they didn't see what Erik saw, the fierce spirit and gentle heart that further illumined this beautiful body, the scars a testament to his strength, not a diminishment of perfection.

Erik's fingers danced over Charles' broad shoulders and down those muscular arms, lingering on his slender-but-strong forearms before taking Charles' hands. He kissed each palm in turn, nibbled at fingertips that tasted earthy and salty both.

Quiet sounds of pleasure escaped Charles' throat, and Erik drew two fingers into his mouth, sucking them gently, letting his teeth just barely graze their surfaces.

The sounds became soft moans.

Erik grinned around the fingers, sucked on them for a minute more before turning his attention to the magnificent expanse of pale flesh before him. Charles' chest was nearly hairless, pale ivory dappled with golden freckles, his dusky-rose nipples standing out in sharp relief.

Erik's fingers closed on those small nubs, pinching them, evoking a soft gasp from Charles. He continued to tease them, raking his fingernails across them as he trailed kisses from the hollow of his throat to just below his breastbone.

Charles shuddered against him, clutching his shoulders for balance.

Erik looked up at him. “Let me lay you back.” He slipped an arm behind Charles' back and guided his upper body onto the mattress. Then he stood, took hold of Charles' ankles, and swung his legs up and around.

He caressed Charles' cheek, then he piled pillows at the head of the bed. “I want you to see what I'm doing. I know you won't be able to feel all of it, maybe not even most of it, but I like the idea of you watching.”

Charles' eyes sparked hot with anticipation as Erik lifted him and settled him against the nest of pillows. He kissed him, drinking in the taste of those ruby lips, then returned his attention to the task at hand.

He removed Charles' shoes and socks. Charles' feet were narrow, the tops dusted lightly with freckles. He unzipped Charles' trousers, used just a touch of his powers to lift Charles' hips while he pulled pants and boxers down then off.

“Gorgeous,” he declared.

Charles' blush descended well below his face. “I'm a mess,” he protested, “scars everywhere.”

There were indeed a lot of scars. Jagged tears. Twisted ropes. The clean lines of surgical scars. But they informed the whole. Charles was who he was, in part, because of these scars, not in spite of them.

“Scars mark you as a survivor,” Erik said. “Only the living have scars.”

Charles flinched and went stiff, suddenly lost in what Erik could only presume was memory. His azure eyes clouded with the sudden tears that flowed freely down his cheeks.

“You lost someone in the bombing, didn't you? Someone you really loved.”

Charles didn't need to answer. The tears were answer enough.

“This is what you've hidden from Raven, from me,” Erik said quietly. “What you weren't ready to talk about.”

Charles gave the faintest of nods, buried his face in his hands. Erik sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled him into his arms.

Charles slumped into the embrace, sobbing openly. His upper body shook with the force of his sobs, and his hot tears quickly soaked the thin material of Erik's t-shirt.

Erik said nothing, just cradled Charles in his arms, stroked his hair, rocked him gently, tried not to think too hard about just how much he was coming to care for this mortal man.

Love, his traitorous heart suggested. You love him.

And he did. No matter how wrong he had believed it was, he had fallen in love with a mortal. No, not “a” mortal. He had fallen in love with Charles.

Charles' sobbing gradually slowed, then stopped, and he began to speak quietly. “Her name was Gabrielle. Gabby. A Sabra. She coordinated personnel and aid supplies. She was funny and fiery and strong-willed, and I'd just proposed to her. We were going to get married after we got out of Syria. I felt them-- I felt her die. She wasn't even supposed to be at the hospital that morning.”

Them. Erik caught Charles' slip, added one and one and got three. “She was pregnant, wasn't she? That's the real secret, isn't it? The thing that's still eating you alive.”

After a long hesitation, Charles slowly nodded.

Erik said nothing more, just continued to hold him.

Neither one of them moved for a long time.

It was Charles who finally began to shift. “Let me loose,” he said, pushing lightly against Erik's chest. “Your shirt's all wet.”

“And whose fault is that?” Erik teased gently as he opened his arms.

But Charles' eyes were serious as he met Erik's gaze. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“You're welcome.” Erik started to rise, but Charles seized his shoulders and pulled him forward for a savage kiss.

“Love me,” he demanded once he finally broke the kiss. “I need to know I'm alive.”

Erik nodded. He rose, stripped off his sodden t-shirt and then his jeans as Charles watched him hungrily. He climbed onto the bed, carefully straddled Charles' knees, then leant forward. He nibbled along the column of Charles' throat, licked delicately at the hollow at its base, ran a line of kisses to the center of his chest, then kissed each nipple in turn.

Charles shivered against him.

Erik nipped and sucked at Charles' left nipple while his fingers pinched and teased the right. Charles arched into the touch, and Erik kept it up until Charles was writhing beneath him.

Erik paused just long enough to say, “Come for me, Charles. I want you to come for me.” Then he attacked Charles' nipples again with abandon, while his free hand traced feather-light patterns on Charles' throat.

Charles' breaths were shallow and fast, his hands were knotted in the sheets, and soft groans issued from his throat. Erik sucked harder, then without warning, bit.

Charles threw his head back and came with a shout.

Erik sat back, a satisfied smile on his face.

Charles gasped and panted and finally managed to speak. “That was fucking fantastic.”

Erik's smile turned to a grin. “And we're just getting started.”

Charles' azure eyes widened. “I'm a dead man.”

“No. You'll just be a thoroughly fucked one.”

Charles sagged dramatically back against his pillows, but his eyes glowed hot with desire.

Erik's hands traced slowly over Charles' midsection, mapping Charles' reactions, learning where Charles could feel his touch and where he couldn't.

There was no abrupt line of demarcation. Rather, there were patchy zones of diminished sensation that zigged and zagged across his hips and belly. Charles had said one of those zones included his cock, but Erik wasn't ready to explore there yet.

He ran a hand down the outside of Charles' left thigh to the knee, seeking those other sensitive spots Charles had mentioned. Charles watched but offered no direction, letting Erik unlock the mysteries himself.

He found the first just above Charles' kneecap, a small patch that made Charles gasp when he brushed his fingers across it.

He found another on the inside of Charles' left thigh, about midway between groin and knee, then he found a third, larger patch on the front of his right thigh, running from the midpoint nearly to his hip.

Erik kissed his way along that narrow band then kissed the other spots he'd found.

Charles groaned. “Oh, fuck.”

Erik chuckled. “That's the idea.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “I'd think a god would have better jokes.”

Erik met his gaze. “I'm not joking,” he said softly. “I meant it when I said I wanted to love all of you.”

Charles glanced away, looking suddenly uncertain.

“What's wrong. Talk to me, Charles.”

Charles sighed. “It's just-- I haven't-- Not since-- Not in a long time.”

Erik understood, he thought. “Not since before the bombing.”

“Before the bombing. Before Gabrielle. Before a lot of things.” He smiled wryly. “Not since med school, actually.”

“We can take it slow.”

“It's not that, not mostly, anyway. It's just, just there's not much sensation back there and no movement. I don't know how enjoyable it'll be for either of us.”

“Let's at least try,” Erik urged gently.

After a long moment, Charles nodded.

“But first I want to taste you.”

Charles' eyes went wide.

Erik bent to take Charles' still-flaccid cock in his mouth.

It felt just a little odd, sucking on a cock that wasn't immediately responsive, but it was Charles in his mouth, and that made it perfect. Erick sucked a bit harder than he usually would, trying to compensate for Charles' diminished sensation.

And he had to be doing something right. Charles was moaning softly, his head thrown back. He still was barely half-hard, but clearly Erik was making him feel good.

One of the perks of being a god was outrageous stamina, so Erik took his time, making sure Charles got every bit of the pleasure he deserved. And while it did take time, Erik was ultimately able to wring another orgasm from Charles.

Charles' body shuddered and shook as Erik maintained his determined assault on his cock, not stopping until Charles had gone limp against the pillows. Only then did he straighten up and move off Charles. He stretched out beside him, took his hand. “When you're ready, roll over.”

Charles nodded vaguely, a goofy smile on his face.

They lay together for a while, not saying a word, not needing to.

“Okay,” Charles finally said. He slipped his hand from Erik's and began maneuvering himself onto his stomach.

Erik sat up, used his powers to conjure a tube of lube. He watched as Charles settled himself; the man really did have a fine ass.

Once Charles was in position, Erik squirted lube onto his hand and gently worked his index finger into Charles' hole. “Can you feel this?”

Charles let out a frustrated sigh. “No.”

Erik concentrated for a moment, then pushed his finger deeper.

Charles let out a surprised gasp. “I felt that.”

Erik grinned. He'd just reconnected a single nerve, and damnit, he refused to feel guilty about it. He wanted Charles to be able to enjoy it.

He patiently worked Charles open, diving deep enough to keep brushing Charles' prostate, to let Charles feel the fingers inside him.

Once he judged Charles was ready, he lubed up his cock and considered. “I think this might work better if we put a couple of pillows under your hips.” He used his powers to tug lightly at Charles' shoulders. “Do you mind if I just--?”

“Do it,” Charles said.

Erik lifted Charles' body and slid two pillows under him. Then he lined himself up and pushed inside.

Charles enveloped him like hot velvet. “Holy fuck.”

“Well, you are a god.”

Erik pulled back, drove in, nailed Charles' prostate.

Charles gave a wordless cry.

“Any more comments and I won't do that again.”

“Does screaming count?”

“No.”

Erik wrapped an arm around Charles' torso and began thrusting into him, slow and steady and deep. Charles screamed every time Erik found his prostate, and Erik made sure he found it a lot.

After what could have been moments or could have been hours, Erik found himself teetering on the brink. A few more deep thrusts and he came, cock buried to the hilt in Charles.

He pulled out and collapsed beside his mortal lover, spent and sated.

Charles turned his head to face him, looking like a contented cat.

Erik thought he could get used to this. Which was why he should really put an end to it.


	9. Of all the bars in all the world

Raven translated them into Logan's. Irene's sightless eyes flickered as visions of possible futures assaulted her. She swayed slightly, Raven at her side just in case she needed support, then regained her balance. How she coped with her visions goddess only knew. Raven realised for the umpteenth time just how amazing her girlfriend was.

Logan's was quiet. He was behind the bar, polishing glasses. He could, of course, do the menial work using his powers, however, he claimed doing simple tasks by hand was calming. Jean came out from the back.

"Raven, welcome and welcome to your guest."

"Always good to see you, Jean. This is Irene, my partner, also known as Destiny."

"Hello, Jean," said Irene.

"Logan, get your ass over here," yelled Raven.

Logan hopped over the bar, muscles moving in a symphony of power. Sometimes Raven could see what Jean saw in him.

"Well, if it isn't the plucked crow," he said.

"Hi there, you mangey coyote."

They grinned at each other.

"So, this is your girlfriend?"

"Hello, Logan," said Irene. "You have some interesting possible futures."

"Hmm, interesting. Don't like the sound of that," rumbled Logan.

"Drinks for anyone?" asked Jean,

"Vodka, straight up," said Raven. She felt she needed it after all the shit that had gone down between her and Charles.

"Just water for me please," said Irene.

Jean got their drinks, a water for herself and a whisky for Logan.

"What's all this about? If I know you, Raven, it's sure to be trouble," said Logan.

"Yep, it surely is. I know Jean's told you about what she overheard Shaw plotting. Irene's got more to add."

"I see possible futures for humans and deities alike. Once Erik is weakened by granting Charles' wish and losing his war-god status, Shaw plans to destroy him. If he does, he'll absorb Erik's mana. Temporarily he'll be the strongest God in existence. He'll use that strength to establish his rule over earth. All the possible futures after that point are bleak. The human race will be nothing but slaves for millennia."

They sat in silence.

"The pivot point is the death of Erik. If we can prevent that, we can prevent the rest. But Erik needs allies and we need to start recruiting immediately. We need your advice on who to target," finished Irene.

"You can count on me," said Logan. "I hate that bastard, Shaw, and Victor's on his side and there's nothing like brotherly love to make a guy want to cave someone's face in."

"You have my support," said Jean. "I've been thinking on this and I've got some suggestions. There's Moira. She has two major manifestations: Coventina, a Scottish goddess of time, new beginnings, life cycles and inspiration of self; and Arianrhod, a Welsh deity, Goddess of the Silver Wheel, who spins and weaves the tapestry of life, rules over birth and rebirth and the arts. She's had run ins with Shaw before and has been wanting to take him down for ages."

Raven nodded. Moira was deceptive. Gentle and kindly, but with a core of steel.

Jean continued, "Then there's Ororo. She's Oya, Yoruba goddess of heavy rainstorms; Surupa, Hindu sky goddess who brings rain; and Tefnut, Egyptian goddess of water and moisture."

"Yeah, she's one badass mofo," said Raven. "She's got a major beef with Apocalypse from when he was Ra and in the Egyptian pantheon. He's thrown in with Shaw, so she's likely to support us."

"You might wanna speak with Peter, you know, Mercury, Hermes, whatever the fuck he calls himself. When Azazel - he's with Shaw - found out Petey boy had taken over as messenger of the gods, he gave the kid some serious shit," said Logan.

"He's probably the only one of us quick enough to counter Az," agreed Raven.

Jean looked thoughtful.

"It might be worth talking to the brothers Alex and Scott, Sunrise and Sunset. They'll listen to you at least. Dionysus, Sean, is probably too laid back to commit, but Jubilee and his other Maenads will join the fight just because they love chaos and drama."

Raven bared her teeth in a feral smile.

"Jubilee and the Maenads. Damn, those girls knew how to party. Only ones who could keep up with me when I was on a roll."

Logan chuckled. "They could drink me under the table. I'll never forget them partying with Hestia, the virgin goddess. She sure as shit wasn't a virgin when they'd finished with her."

They all laughed.

"I've got one more suggestion," said Jean. "Darwin. He was known as Bes by the Egyptians. He's a friend of Ororo's. He's a warrior against evil and Shaw is as evil as they come. He's also a protector, particularly of children and pregnant women. He'll want to protect humanity. Plus he symbolizes all the good things in life that would cease to exist if Shaw succeeds."

"How about Hecate, goes by Wanda now?" suggested Raven. "She's all about magic, witchcraft, the night, the moon, ghosts and necromancy. I know she's kinda unpredictable, can be real up and down, but she's mucho strong on the female principle and you don't get anyone who's more macho than Shaw."

"She'd make for a difficult ally. Her unpredictability can be a strength and a weakness. Probably worth talking to her, though," said Jean.

"You watch out for her," advised Logan. "She's one tricksy bitch. Sweetness and light one minutes. Fucking fire and brimstone the next."

"As a tricksy bitch myself, I figure I can handle her. Right, I think that's enough to be going on with. Jean, wanna come with us?" Jean nodded. "Logan, let me know when our potential recruits visit the bar."

They said their goodbyes to Logan - who gave Jean a blisteringly passionate kiss goodbye that gave Raven all kinds of ideas for when she and Irene were alone - and Raven translated the three of them to the beach house.

"So, is the future changing yet?"

Irene smiled.

"Not yet, my love. Patience."

"Patience has never been my strong point."

Jean laughed. "Yes, I remember that about you."

"She's so impulsive. I'm thousands of years younger than her, but I'm by far the more mature," said Irene.

"Hey, quit picking on me," complained Raven.

Irene gave her a tender kiss.

Raven sighed.

"Fuck, I wish I could talk to Charles."

"Why don't you?" asked Jean.

"Yes, why don't you?" agreed Irene. "It couldn't be because you're scared, could it?"

Damn perceptive girlfriends.

"Of course I'm not scared. I'll go talk to him right now."

"You might try for a little humility," murmured Irene.

"I'll be so fucking humble I'll make Mother Teresa look like Kim Kardashian."

Jean rolled her eyes and Irene smiled fondly.

"Good luck," she whispered.

Raven had faced off against deities more powerful than herself with her cunning as her only advantage. She'd fought horrific entities from dimensions of hideous, scarifying light. She'd confronted monsters from the chthonic darkness. So how come she was absolutely terrified about talking to a single human being?

She translated away.


	10. Complications and Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally another chapter! I've actually had the draft finished and half-edited for a bit, but I dropped everything to do Remix Madness, then took a few days to recover from Remix Madness. I'm finally back in my writing groove, so updates should be more regular. Thank you to everyone who has hung in there...

Erik woke after a couple of hours. Gods didn't need sleep in the same way humans did. A brief period of rest and quiet to rejuvenate mind and body was more than sufficient.

Charles still slept soundly beside him, fragile, beautiful, human. A part of a world to which Erik did not belong. Gods and mortals shouldn't mix, no matter how tempting that mixing might be.

And if Erik kept telling himself that, he might eventually believe it again.

He rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Charles, pulled on his jeans, was about to walk out he bedroom door when he remembered the Summoning and cursed. He wasn't going anywhere without Charles.

Yet he didn't want to wake him, no matter how restless he felt. He'd been going to go down to the beach, walk on the sand, connect with the natural world, refresh his spirit. He sighed, resigning himself to a morning of reading. Or--

He reached out with his powers, translated himself and Charles (and Charles' mattress) down to the beach. Charles stirred for a moment, then settled back to sleep. The sea air was chill; the early-dawn sun pale and weak. Knowing Charles couldn't regulate his body temperature very well, Erik manifested a soft blanket, covering Charles from his shoulders down, though he regretted the loss of the view.

Then he had walked along the sand, barefoot this time, savoring the feel of sand between his toes. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, carried the scent of the sea to his nostrils.

He paused beside the rock Charles had sat on that first night. This was where it had begun, strands of fate weaving together to set in motion the possible end of the world.

He cursed Shaw and his convoluted plan. Erik was the one Shaw wanted, but the sick bastard (and he really was a bastard, Erik knew) had to drag down all of humanity in his quest for revenge. Plus he was using Charles to do it, beautiful, brilliant, hopelessly idealistic Charles. If he managed to survive this shitstorm, Erik would make him pay for that.

Erik settled himself cross-legged on the low, flat rock, closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, calmed his thoughts. There had to be a way through this, if he could just find it. He might be god of wisdom, but he felt spectacularly clueless at the moment.

He sat there nearly until dawn, when he sensed the approach of another immortal. His eyes flew open, all senses going on high alert for a moment, then relaxing. “Raven,” he said.

She stepped out of the shadows and approached. “Charles' favorite spot,” she said, glancing to where he still slept, he voice soft and sad.

“This is where I met him.”

“When he Summoned you.”

“Yes.”

“What the hell was he thinking?” She took a seat beside the rock, stared pensively into the sea.

“He believes he's doing the right thing, and he's far too stubborn to be persuaded otherwise.”

“But we _know_ what will happen. It's happened before.”

“Never on such a scale, but yes.”

“There are those of us who will stand with you,” she declared, “including me.”

“Thank you.” Erik said, then he sighed. “For whatever good it does.”

“More good than you might think,” Raven said. “My girlfriend is a precog, a damned accurate one, and she says there are ways through this mess.”

“How?”

“I don't know. That's all she'll say so far. She says too much is in flux, that revealing the details now would alter the outcome, and most of the alterations would be for the worse. She says she'll be able to reveal more once we assemble your allies. We've already spoken to Jean and Logan, and they're on board.”

“Again, thank you.”

“I'm mostly doing it for Charles. Mostly.” She lifted her head, looked at Erik. “Do you think I could talk to him, once he wakes up? I know what I did was pretty unforgivable.”

“If anyone can forgive you, it's Charles. I'll let him know you're back once he wakes up.”

“I'll have to leave later – Jean and Irene and I need to talk to a bunch of people – but hopefully I can see him before I go.”

Erik nodded and slid off the rock. He was just about to return with Charles to the beach house when Emma Frost translated in.

“We need to talk, sugar,” she said.

**~xXx~**

They convened in the bedroom next to Charles' suite. Raven and Erik regarded Emma with suspicion, while Irene was merely wary. Emma didn't notice, or she didn't care.

“You've got a big problem,” she began.

“We know,” Raven said impatiently.

“You don't know all of it.”

“She's right. We don't,” Irene said.

“Though you know more than the others.”

“I've seen many possibilities,” Irene conceded, “including your coming here. And you selling us out to Shaw, though that's a bit less likely than you throwing in with us, which is far less likely than you telling us what you know and returning to Shaw's side, appearing to support him while secretly rooting for Erik.”

Emma, for once in her long existence, seemed nonplussed.

“So which will it be?” Erik pressed.

Emma sighed. “Very well. I'll tell you what I know. Shaw's gone bat-shit crazy, and he's dragging others – Set, Ra, Loki, Janos, Azazel -- into his delusion of world domination. He blames you for his downfall, and he's spent most of the last millennium crafting what he calls the perfect plan. And it is a good one. The climate on the High Council has shifted, and they're likely to restore his war-god status. Losing those powers will weaken you, then you'll be further weakened by granting the human's wish for world peace. Once those two things have happened, Shaw believes he can destroy you and take your remaining power. With that, plus the effects of the wish, he'll be able to enslave humanity, bend them to his will.”

“Fuck,” Jean said quietly.

“So how the hell do we stop him?” Erik demanded.

“Ask the precog,” Emma answered dismissively, then she translated away.

“We've already begun,” Irene answered, an inscrutable smile on her lips, her white eyes lit softly from within.

**~xXx~**

Charles had fallen into an exhausted, sated slumber, wrapped in Erik's arms, but he woke alone. He stretched, pushed himself to a sitting position, looked around the room.

Erik lounged in his favorite armchair, the one he settled in when his back was screaming loudest. For once he was fully clothed, though the way his t-shirt clung to his pecs and abs left little to Charles' imagination. A fat copy of Heinlein's _The Past Through Tomorrow_ sat open in his left hand, balanced gracefully in those long, elegant fingers.

He glanced up, sensing Charles' gaze upon him, and his lips curved into a smile.”Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Morning.”

Erik set his book face-down on the arm of the chair and rose. “I've been waiting for hours for you to wake.”

“Why?” Charles asked, unable to quell the unease that pooled in his stomach.

“So I could do this.” Erik closed the distance between them, bent and kissed him, gentle but thorough.

“You could have woken me for that,” Charles said, after.

“You needed to sleep,” Erik said, “and there is much we need to discuss today.”

“Still trying to dissuade me from my wish?” Charles' tone was teasing, but with a serious undertone. He'd hoped their fragile rapprochement would have lasted beyond a single night.

“Things have grown more complicated,” Erik answered, sounding almost apologetic. “Your wish plays a role in Shaw's machinations.”

Charles was horrified. “How?”

“Reclaiming his powers as god of war weakens me. Granting your wish weakens me further. He intends to strike then, destroying me and absorbing my remaining powers. This, in conjunction with the effects of your wish, will result in humanity's enslavement for millennia.”

“Fuck. Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Emma – Aphrodite – gave me a heads-up as to Shaw's endgame, and a precognitive filled in some of the details.”

“A precognitive? Raven's partner?”

A brief nod. “The same.”

“Are they here?”

“Yes, along with Jean. They plan to assemble my allies.”

Charles squirmed a bit.

“She wants to see you.”

“I don't know if I can. Not yet.”

“Fair enough.” Erik cupped Charles' jaw. “Do you want breakfast?”

He shivered at Erik's touch. “Do we have time?”

“There is little for us to do today except talk.”

“Only talk?”

“Did you have something else in mind?” Teasing.

“I might fancy a game or two of chess.” Tit for tat.

“Are you sure that's all you're thinking of?” Erik sank onto the bed beside Charles' hip, his normally ice-cool eyes smoldering.

“Positive.” Charles licked his lips.

“Then let me give you a few more ideas.” Erik covered his lips with his own, gentle for a moment, then demanding. His hands slid into Charles' hair, tangling, tugging, the faint pain only fuelling Charles' desire.

His own hands scrabbled at the hem of Erik's t-shirt, pushing it upward until his fingers found satiny skin. Why was it that when he actually wanted him naked, Erik was fully clothed? _Off,_ he projected.

_Yes._

And just like that, Erik was naked.

_I love how you do that._

_And you talk too much._ Erik pushed Charles onto his back, vanished the blankets, straddled his hips. That massive cock, still mostly flaccid, was on full display, and Charles wrapped a hand around it.

“Uungh.”

Charles began stroking Erik, languid as a bathing cat, teasing Erik to hardness.

“Faster.”

“No.”

Erik's fingers closed on Charles' nipples, pinched hard enough to sting.

Charles gasped.

“Faster, or I won't do that again.”

Charles sped up.

Erik brushed the pads of his thumbs over Charles nipples.

Charles sped up even more.

Erik continued to tease Charles' right nipple, pinching it lightly, dragging his nails across it, while his other hand captured Charles' free hand and lifted it to his lips. He blew on the sensitive skin of Charles' inner wrist, nuzzled it, nibbled it.

Charles' rhythm on Erik's cock stuttered but didn't stop.

Erik nipped at Charles' fingertips, sucked on his index finger. Damn but he had a talented tongue.

The only question now was which one of them was going to come first.

Charles redoubled his efforts. So did Erik.

This was a race Charles lost, though he did so happily, sensation ripping along his nerve endings, fire and ice, pleasure and pain. He rode the tide until it ebbed, somehow managing to maintain some semblance of a rhythm on Erik's cock. “Holy fuck,” he breathed.

Erik was too close to the edge to respond in words, but Charles felt the mental equivalent of a smirk.

Charles pulled his hand from Erik's grasp, cradled Erik's balls, stroking the velvety sac with his thumb.

Erik came, hard and fast, with a cry of “Oh, Fuuuck.”

Erik slumped back, sitting on Charles' thighs, eyes glassy, looking utterly wrecked.

“So was it good for you?” Charles teased.

Erik slid off Charles onto the mattress. “Best way to wake up.”

**~xXx~**

After Emma left and Erik returned to Charles, Raven, Irene, and Jean strategized. Jean felt restless, worried, ready for action, but the time for action had yet to arrive.

“Since Loki's involved, should we talk to Thor?” Raven wondered.

“Logan should approach him,” Irene said. “They both have brothers on Shaw's side. He will join us for that reason.”

Jean sighed; Logan wouldn't be happy. “I'll tell him when we're done here.”

“And we should approach Moira first,” Irene continued. “We need her ability to shape outcomes. It's a subtle power, but it will provide an edge we need.”

“Hecate can do that as well,” Jean said.

“But she's unpredictable. She'll likely join us, but she lacks the patience for planning. Approach her last.”

“What about Jubilee next?” Raven suggested. “The Maenads offer strength in numbers, though they're only demigoddesses.”

Irene nodded.

“Let's get moving,” Jean said. “We can figure out the rest after. Give me a few minutes to check in with Logan, tell him he needs to talk to Thor. I'll be right back.” She barely waited for the others' acknowledgments before translating away.

The bar was virtually empty when she arrived, just a couple of perennial occupants slumped on stools at one end of the bar, both minor gods who hadn't dealt well with humanity's moving on. Logan sat on the other end of the bar, long legs dangling, guitar in his hands, strumming softly, singing in a bare whisper, lost in his music.

It was an old Irish tune, from their time among the Celts, made new on an acoustic guitar. She joined in as she approached, just loud enough for him to hear.

He looked up and smiled, fingers stilling. “You're back.”

“For a minute,” she said. “We're about to go see Moira, but I needed to talk to you first.”

“Why do I have a feeling I won't like this?”

“Because you won't. Loki's joined Shaw's team.”

“Fuck. I knew I shouldn't trust that guy. But he's a damned good bassist.”

“That's not the important part, not right now, anyway. You need to talk to Thor. Irene says he'll join us if you approach him, and we need his power. He's the strongest among us likely to join the fight.”

Logan scowled. “I hate this kind of shit.”

“Do it for me.” She came in close, gave him a kiss full of passion and promise and tongue.

By the time she tore herself away, Logan's expression had softened. She smiled at him, said, “Go get him, tiger,” and translated away.

**~xXx~**

Erik made omelettes for breakfast, stuffed with onions and peppers and cheese. “I could get used to this,” Charles declared as he dug in.

“If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't.”

Charles looked up, registering Erik's serious tone.

“We come from two different worlds. There's too much in my world that can destroy yours. Destroy you.”

“There's plenty in my own world that could destroy me. Some of it nearly did. You're not going to scare me off, Erik.”

Erik sighed, smiled softly. “I know, but I had to try.” He studied Charles for a long minute. “I never understood before, how one of my kind could fall for one of yours. But I've fallen for you, Charles, and I don't want to lose you.”

“You will, eventually, though. I'm not immortal.”

“No, though my powers could keep you alive and young. But that's a trap. Most humans tire quickly of eternity. Only a few are strong enough to endure, and even fewer can endure without coming to resent the immortal keeping them alive. I don't want that for us.”

“You paint a bleak picture.”

“Just an honest one.”

“Are you willing to take the chance? That we might beat those odds?”

Erik stared at him, those pale, changeable eyes unreadable. “I don't know.”

Erik had shut him down almost entirely the last time he'd tried to broach this subject. That Erik was admitting doubt was progress. Charles reached across the table – his back screamed protest, but fuck that – and took Erik's hands in his own. “I think it's worth the risk, my friend. What's between us is larger than the two of us alone.”

“There's a shitstorm heading straight for us,” Erik warned.

“What if I changed my wish?” Charles didn't believe he was saying those words.

Rather than looking relieved, Erik looked worried. “That actually might not be such a good idea, not anymore.”

Not the response he'd expected. “What?”

“If what Irene said holds true, our best shot is to proceed down the path for now. Shaw can't suspect we know his endgame.”

“But if I change my wish, won't his plan fall apart?”

“Doubtful. He'll have planned for that contingency. He had to guard against my powers of persuasion, no matter how bullheaded you can be.”

“So we just pretend nothing has happened.”

“For now. Irene said she'd be able to reveal more once Raven has assembled my allies. Until then, we wait.”

“I've never been good at sitting on the sidelines,” Charles groused.

“I'd never have guessed,” Erik said dryly. Charles gave him the hairy eyeball, so Erik added, “You are the man who went to Syria, are you not? The one who stayed to evacuate his patients when the bombs were falling all around you? No matter what it might cost you?”

Charles gave him a tight, wry smile. “Yeah. And what it cost me is proof I'm not quite the man of action I fancied myself to be,”

Erik shook his head. “All that proves is that you're human, with human frailties. Your actions that day were heroic as they get.”

Charles sighed. “You speak of what it cost me, that I acted without regard for the consequences. Do you know I ask myself every day if it was worth it?”

“And the answer?”

Charles covered his face with his hands, spoke softly, vehemently. “I don't know. I don't fucking know. Maybe if I knew my actions had made a difference, saved just one life, but I just don't fucking know.” He lowered his hands, looked deep into Erik's changeable eyes. “I've lost so much. Gabby. The baby. My patients. My colleagues.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “My legs.”

“Would you like me to show you the answers?”

“You can do that?” Charles snorted at the inanity of his question. Erik had taken him to Auschwitz, had shown him a single family's story, a story that would have otherwise been lost to history, unremarked and unnoticed. “Of course you can.”

“So do you want me to?” Erik reached across the table, took his hands.

Want, maybe not. Need, definitely. “Yes.”

Moments later, they were in Syria, under a painfully-bright turquoise sky, the arid heat like a punch to his face. In front of them, a ruined building Charles knew painfully well. The hospital he'd arrived at nearly four years ago, full of optimism, ready to make a difference, not really understanding the kind of hell he was walking into. The same place where, a few months later, he'd been pulled from the rubble, clinging to life, heart and body broken beyond repair.

Erik squinted into the sun, frowning in concentration, then they were elsewhere in the city. A small group of children played in the shadow of a burned-out building. The resilience of youth.

“Do you see him?” Erik asked.

Charles watched for a minute, zeroed in on one of the smaller boys who had burn scars up one arm and on one cheek. “Him,” he said, pointing. “I treated him.”

“You did, but you did far more than that. He was still in the hospital that day, along with a teenager about to be discharged, a boy who'd lost a hand. You had the older boy take this one, told him to run as far and as fast as he could and not to look back. He found his way to the home of some cousins, all the family he had left. They took both boys in.”

Erik fell silent for a moment, let Charles absorb this before he continued. “There are more, Charles, others who are alive because of your selflessness that day, and all the days before. Some have made it out of Syria. A few have made it as far as Europe. One is in Pennsylvania.”

Charles couldn't speak. This was more than he would have hoped for. But there was one other thing that haunted him, one answer he still needed. He summoned enough of his voice to whisper, “Gabby – that morning, was she there to see me?”

“No, her boss called her in. You weren't to blame. No one is, really. The men who started the war.”

“Did she suffer?”

Erik didn't hesitate. “No. The wing she was in took a direct hit. They were gone in moments.”

A mercy. Yet dozens more had lingered in the rubble, crying out for a mercy that never came. Surrounded by the dead and dying, bombs raining down all around, wanting to scream from the pain of it, Charles had still tried to protect the innocents in his care.

He didn't remember the strike that had collapsed the children's ward. Perhaps he'd been knocked unconscious by the blast, or perhaps his mind had wiped those moments from his memory. Regardless, he hadn't forgotten the minutes and hours that followed, lying helpless, pinned in the rubble, feeling the minds around him winking out one by one, the psychic pain magnifying the physical pain, which was blinding on its own.

He'd willed himself to stay conscious, stay alive, comforting the minds of the living and the dying, communicating with the rescuers, guiding them to the survivors, hanging on until all were safe, only then revealing his own location. Then the chilling knowledge he'd hidden from himself, that his spine had been damaged, that he could feel nothing below mid-chest. And then everything had faded away.

Charles' hands shook as he emerged from reverie. Sun scorched his skin, the scents of smoke and dust in the air, screams echoing in his ears, in his mind.

Strong arms wrapped around him, a cheek pressed to his forehead, soft words in his ear. Then the brief wrench of warping realities as Erik translated them back to the beach.

Erik lifted him from his chair, cradled him close, kissed his temple, took a seat on the rock where they'd met. He rocked Charles gently, his embrace strong and tender both, spoke soothing words in an unfamiliar language.

Charles let himself be held until the emotional storm blew itself out, leaving him limp and drained. Then he lifted his head and kissed Erik, tender at first, then hungry, needy.

Erik matched Charles' passion with his own, and they clung to each other, Erik's arms encircling Charles' torso in a secure embrace, while Charles' hands gripped Erik's shoulders hard enough to bruise, if gods bruised.

Erik rose, lifted Charles smoothly, then lay him on a soft blanket he must have conjured out of thin air. Charles' clothes disappeared, followed a moment later by Erik's. Erik sank down beside Charles, kissed him again. “I must be crazy,” he murmured, trailing more kisses along Charles' jaw. “Crazy in love.”

Erik loved him. Charles still didn't believe it.

Erik nipped down his throat and along his shoulder. “I never understood when my compatriots would fall in love with humans.” He nuzzled Charles' left nipple, his beard rough against Charles' heated skin, an electric jolt along his nerves. “I'm still not sure I understand. “I know only that I need you.” He kissed Char;es' nipple, sucked at it gently, and Charles shuddered in his arms.

“I need you. I can't lose you. I know the odds are s thousand-to-one against us, but that doesn't matter.” He laved Charles' other nipple until Charles was writhing against him. “All that matters is this. You. Me. Loving together. Fighting together. Saving the world.”

He buried his face in Charles' stomach, finding the sensitive patch just above his navel, scrubbing his beard across it until Charles lost what little control he had left and came with a convulsive shudder.

“You're welcome,” Erik said.

Charles wrapped his arms around Erik, pulled him in closer, until they were skin to skin. “I love you,” he said, “and I refuse to lose you. If Irene says there's a way through this, we'll find it.”

Erik smiled against his shoulder. “Faith. Such a human emotion.”

“I am what I am.”

“And that's what I love about you.”

~xXx~

Irene wobbled a little as they arrived at Moira's. The process of translation, though it lasted only moments, played hell with her pecognition, wrenching away the near futures of where they'd been, slamming in another set for her new location.

Raven steadied her. “You all right?”

“I'm fine. Travelling like that takes some getting used to.” She concentrated on separating out the most likely future, finding her path forward. It wasn't precisely seeing, but it worked for her well enough.

They were in a garden, lush and green, with the scents of a multitude of flowers hanging heavy in the air and the sound of water rushing gently in the background. “This way,” She said, turning and walking down a stone path.

They wound their way through flora ablaze in a riot of color, following the small stream to a circular expanse of lawn dotted with wildflowers. Moira – Coventina, Arianrhod – sat at the base of an apple tree, legs crossed, eyes closed. She tensed as the trio approached.

Her eyes blinked open, warm and brown yet assessing. “Raven, Jean.” She smiled, much of the tension flowing out of her body as she recognized them. “Welcome.”

Raven spoke first. “We need to talk. Some bad shit's about to happen.” That was her love, always blunt, always impatient.

Moira arched a brow.

Irene stepped forward. “Let's back up a little. My name's Irene. I'm Raven's girlfriend, but more importantly, I'm a precognitive.”

“How accurate?”

“Very,” Irene said. “And I understand your reticence, but I also know you'll hear us out. Sebastian Shaw, aka the deposed Apollo, in about to make his comeback.”

Moira's brow lowered and her lips set into a grim line. “Have a seat.” She manifested a bottle of Logan's best scotch and four glasses. “This I've got to hear.”

~xXx~

Erik and Charles lay curled together on the blanket for a while, and Erik would have been content to stay there for the rest of eternity, but he knew Charles couldn't remain here indefinitely.

Charles was beginning to shift the way he did when the pain he lived with asserted itself, and his skin was just barely pinking from the sun.

“We need to go in,” Erik said.

Charles sighed. “Do we have to?”

“If you want to avoid a sunburn.”

“You can't just conjure some sunscreen?”

“The technical term is 'manifest,' and I certainly could, but I can see you're in pain.”

“No more than usual. I just need to shift position.”

“I still wish you'd let me do something about that.”

Charles said nothing for a long minute, and Erik knew he was at least considering it. Finally he spoke, the tiniest tremor in his voice. “You said you could block the pain?”

“I can. For now, or permanently.”

“Just for now, I think.”

Erik kissed him on the cheek. “Consider it done. But I still wish you would consider letting me do more.”

Charles sighed. “I'll think about it, after we get through this mess.”

Erik kissed him again, this time on the lips. “That's all I ask. The offer will always stand, but I will always respect your choice. I understand now what you mean when you say these,” he laid his hand on Charles' thigh, “are just window dressing. I love you, Charles, and while a part of me wants to weep at seeing you in pain, at witnessing what you contend with on a daily basis, wants to beg you to let me mend the damage to your spine, I know everything you've endured is a part of what makes you you, and I never want to change who you are.”

Charles sapphire eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Thank you for that.”

Erik smiled. “Now roll onto your back. I'll put some sunscreen on you, block those nerves, give you a little massage.”

Charles smiled back. “I like the way you think. Back up and give me a little room.”

Erik moved to the edge of the blanket, waited while Charles maneuvered onto his stomach. Then he manifested a bottle of sunscreen lotion and set to work.

He began at Charles feet, smoothing on the lotion, working his way up Charles' unresponsive legs, making sure every inch of ivory skin was well-protected, not stinting in his ministrations just because Charles couldn't feel them. He spent a little extra time on Charles' ass – it really was a fine ass – then he straddled Charles' hips and began massaging the places Charles could feel.

The elegant column of Charles' neck, that bore the weight of the world, all too literally. Charles almost purred as Erik teased the tension from the taut muscles of neck and shoulder. Lean, strong arms. Gentle hands. Then on to Charles' back, the scars a testament to the man's will to survive. Damaged nerve and muscle and bone a patchwork under Erik's fingers. He could sense the metal rods and screws, the framework that had held shattered bone together as it healed, feel the knotted scar tissue that resisted his touch, see the motionless limbs, the stark reminders of severed nerves.

And Charles bore it all with quiet grace. Most of the time, anyway. Erik had been around for long enough to have seen the moments of frustration, moments of anger, moments of grief, that were often then channelled into that determination to rid the world of war. But moments that existed nonetheless.

He wished Charles' vision could come to pass, not the worst realities of a world without war, but the beauty of what it should be, if humanity's highest nature held sway. But that would take powers beyond those of all of the pantheons put together, even if it were permitted by the laws governing mortal/immortal interactions. Humans had free will; their agency was sacrosanct.

Erik sighed; there were simply no easy answers.

He slid his powers into Charles' back, found the misfiring nerves that caused the pain, blocked the signals to Charles' brain. He knew he'd done it right, because Charles went absolutely still, then sagged against the blanket with an amazed sigh. “Holy shit.”

“That good?”

“You know bloody well it is. This is the first time since Syria that I haven't been in pain.” He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “You could really make this permanent?”

“I could.”

“When this is over?”

“When this is over,” Erik promised. “Now roll over so I can do your front.”

Charles sighed, began to maneuver himself over, paused. “It doesn't hurt to move,” he said in wonder. “It really doesn't.” He was mostly turned, and his cobalt eyes were wide with delight.

“Being with a god can have its perks.” Erik kissed him, just a quick peck on the lips. “Now lie back. I've got your legs.” He straightened Charles' legs and massaged the sunscreen into them. Charles closed his eyes and relaxed, a contented smile on his ruby lips.

He moaned softly as Erik rubbed lotion onto the sensitive patches on his thighs, moaned louder as Erik rubbed it over his cock and balls.

Charles' cock twitched under Erik's hand. Erik gazed at it, mock-stern, and said, “Be patient. I'll get back to you.”

Charles chuckled.

Erik worked his way up Charles' torso, careful over the ticklish spots along Charles' ribs, gentle as his fingertips brushed across Charles' nipples. Charles gave a soft hiss, arching into the touch, but Erik was already moving on. Arms. Shoulders. Throat. Jaw. Ears. Charles shuddered as Erik stroked the delicate shells.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Erik directed, “and your mouth,” then he rubbed the sunscreen over Charles' face, ending with those plush lips, stroking them with a single fingertip.

Charles nipped at the digit, made a face, “That stuff tastes awful,” he protested, words a little garbled by Erik's finger.

Erik concentrated a moment. “Better?”

“Raspberry?” Charles grinned, nibbled at his finger a bit more.

“The first thing I thought of.” The color of Charles' lips. He slipped his finger free and kissed those same lips.

Charles buried his hands in Erik's hair, holding him close. His eyes were bright, hot, hungry, though half-obscured by that silky curtain of chestnut hair, and by the time he finally loosed his grip on Erik, his pupils were blown wide with desire.

And they were just getting started.

~xXx~

All Logan wanted was to pound someone. He didn't care who. So the moment Thor finally translated in, Logan decked him. A solid right to the jaw.

Thor staggered a little, caught by surprise, then his blue eyes lit and he grinned and punched Logan in the gut.

And it was on.

Ten minutes later, the bar was thoroughly trashed. Logan and Thor regarded each other amid the rubble, shit-eating grins on both their faces.

“What brought this on?” Thor asked. “Not that I'm complaining.”

“Your brother.”

“So you pounded on me because he wasn't available.”

“Nah. I just felt like pounding someone, and I knew you would pound back.” Logan surveyed the ruins. “You mind helping me clean this shit up?”

“Not as long as you tell me what the hell my brother is up to.”

Logan repaired the stage with a flick of his wrist. “You remember Sebastian Shaw?”

“Former Apollo. Real jackass.” Thor righted some tables.

“That's him.”

“What's he up to, and what's it got to do with Loki?”

“Nothing good, and your brother's neck-deep in it.”

Thor swore, some curse Logan didn't recognize, probably Old Norse. Then he waved a hand, and chairs repaired and righted themselves and tucked up under the tables. “Details, Logan. Now.”

Logan concentrated, restored the bar and the smashed bottles. Restoring the never-emptying feature of the bottles would take true focus, so he'd do that later, after he finished this conversation. “Shaw blames Erik for his downfall, and he's cooked up some grandiose plan for revenge. He's petitioned for the return of his war-god powers, and the mood on the Council has changed, so he'll get them this time.”

Thor mended the barstools, sat on one, cocked a bushy blond brow. “Keep going.”

“He found a human looking to summon a god, made sure that god was Erik, and the wish, for world peace.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly. Erik will be weakened by the loss of his war-god powers and further weakened by granting the human's wish. Shaw will destroy Erik, take his remaining power, and use that plus the effects of the human's wish to enslave humankind for millennia.”

“Double fuck.” Thor manifested a tankard of ale, drained it in a single gulp.

“Yeah.” Logan manifested a bottle of his favorite brew and popped the cap.

“Could we kill the human? Erik is bound by the Summoning; we are not.”

“We could, but I wouldn't recommend it. Not this human. Erik's gone and fallen in love with this one.”

“Erik the separatist? Erik the hardass?”

“Yeah.”

Thor laughed, pounded his fist on the bar. “I knew he had it in him.”

“Who'da thunk it.”

“So we've got to go save the world for Erik and his boyfriend.”

“Yeah.”

“And I get to pound on my brother in the process.” Thor's eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“Yeah.”

“Bring it on. I love a good fight.”

Logan rolled his eyes. This was going to be a royal clusterfuck, no matter who won.

~xXx

The rest of their first recruiting trip went well. Jubilee joined enthusiastically; she, too, had history with Shaw. She expected most of the other Maenads would follow suit, and had even suggested a few others they might approach. But she'd insisted they drink to their new alliance, and Logan had not exaggerated the Maenads' capacity for liquor.

Irene, wisely, had taken but a sip. Jean, but a glass. Raven, though, had tried to match Jubilee drink for drink, until Jean had reached over and purged the alcohol from her system. “We need to be going. Irene says we've done enough for tonight.”

Raven looked over at Irene, who wore one of her inscrutable smiles. “Enough recruiting, at any rate,” she said. “You still need to talk to Charles.”

Damned psychic girlfriends.

They bid farewell to Jubilee, who was still awe-inspiringly sober, and translated away, Jean back to Logan's, Raven and Irene to the beach house.

They materialized in Raven's suite, and Raven turned to steal a quick kiss. She expected Irene to push her away, send her straight to her brother, but instead Irene pulled her close. “Erik and your brother are otherwise occupied. We have some time.”

Thank the gods for precognitive girlfriends.

~xXx~

Erik and Charles made slow, sweet love on the beach, returned to the beach house when the sun sank low in the sky. They took a long shower together, then went down to figure out dinner.

They were just chopping vegetables for a salad when Charles sensed a third presence enter the room. He looked up, saw Raven hovering near the doorway.

Charles locked eyes with her.

“Can I talk to you? Please.”

Charles closed his eyes, nodded reluctantly.

Raven took a seat at the kitchen table, her golden eyes luminous, her mouth downturned. “I know you're not ready to forgive me, that maybe you'll never be, but we need to at least call a truce.”

“I agree.” Charles spoke quietly, evenly. “this is far too important to let our personal differences get in the way.”

“Irene tells me we can get past this.”

“And maybe we will.” An edge of anger crept into his voice. “But not yet. You lied to me, Raven. You lied to me every day for years. How am I supposed to get past that?”

Raven's shoulders slumped. “I don't know. Time?”

“Time?” Charles snorted. “This from an immortal, a being who lives forever, for whom time is meaningless. Time is the one commodity I don't have the luxury of.”

Raven said nothing.

“Actually, none of us have the luxury of time, not anymore. Shaw goes before the Council in five days. The full moon is barely a week after that.”

“So you believe us now? World peace is not what it seems?”

“Yes. No. I don't know. It doesn't bloody well matter what I believe now, because it won't change the outcome. Shaw's made sure of that.”

“Irene says there's a path through this shit.”

“One that sees Erik and I together at the end?”

Raven sucked in a breath. “I don't know.”

“Yeah, well, neither do I.” Charles words were bitter ash. “I finally dare to fall in love again, this time for a god, an immortal, and now it turns out I might lose him, too.”

Raven swallowed hard. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Erik's friends, too. We're all going to fight for him.”

“Thank you.” Tears pooled in his eyes, and he brushed them away.

“I'm still here for you.”

“I know.”


End file.
